


The Guardian of the Opera

by AsterRoc



Series: The Guardian of the Ballet [1]
Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Bennefrost - Freeform, Black Ice - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Community: rotg_kink, Crossover, Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Friendship, Inspired by Music, Light Bondage, M/M, Mindfuck, Minor Character Death, Multi, Musicals, My First Work in This Fandom, Non-Canon Relationship, Off-screen Character Death, Rape/Non-con Elements, Request Meme, Romance, Tragedy, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000, Wordcount: Over 10.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 48,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsterRoc/pseuds/AsterRoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the prima donna principal dancer E. Aster Bunnymund throws a tantrum over a supposed dark “Guardian” of the Ballet Populaire house, soloist Jack Frost steps up.  But little does anyone know that the Guardian is real and stepping into the limelight has made Jack the target of his desires.  Jack’s childhood friend Jamie Bennett fights to save Jack’s heart, life, and perhaps even soul.  </p><p>A fill for <a href="http://rotg-kink.dreamwidth.org/2389.html?thread=3874901#cmt3874901">this rotg kink meme</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue / Overture

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not actually a student of ballet at all, so please forgive (and correct!) any errors I make in terminology. I picture the Ballet Populaire as a mixed-gender dance troupe which doesn't mind gender-bending roles - yeah, completely realistic for this time period! - and primarily performs classical ballet adaptations of musicals and/or plays. The characters are meant to be human and depowered, but with many similar traits and homages to their original powers.
> 
> Note: I have marked this work as containing rape/non-con because I believe in consent culture: without enthusiastic consent, I'm calling it rape/non-con. Many people would call what's contained herein dub-con instead. In short, there is sex, there isn't enthusiastic consent on the part of at least one person involved.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man in the winter of his life writes in his journal of the auction he recently attended at the Ballet Populaire, and of the memories the objects stir.

An elderly man sits hunched over a writing desk, a journal open before him. His thin body is wrapped in a large gray afghan, matching the gray of his hair, with only a few darker hairs indicating its original auburn color. Despite the blanket, he shivers – the single window in the room does little to keep out the winter cold, and it is covered with patterns of frost that emulate ferns. Thick wire-rimmed glasses dull the man’s still-gleaming brown eyes peering down into his book from a face lined with wrinkles. 

The man carefully dips a slim black fountain pen into a bottle of ink and begins to write. The joints in his fingers are gnarled with arthritis, yet his hand is still neat. 

_April 24, 1905_

_I attended an auction today at the old Ballet Populaire house. The items for sale brought back such bittersweet memories. I purchased more than I intended; my favorites are a poster of the adaptation of Chalumeau’s “Hannibal” (one of the many works the troupe adapted to ballet), and a jack-in-the-box with a little figure of an organ-grinding monkey that pops out. Although faded from the years, it looks exactly as she described, from the felt of the monkey’s fez, to the clown faces on the sides of the box. It still works._

_I wonder if it will still play when all the rest of us are dead._

_The chandelier was the most beautiful of the items on display, and it was revealed last. Of course all present knew that was what was hiding throughout the auction under the large cloth at the side of the room, however when the cloth was whisked away the splendor revealed put my memories to shame. Perhaps the memories dim with distance from the events, but I am not sure I would restore them even if I could. The glass and mirrors of the chandelier had been polished to an amazing sheen, and the auction house had even wired it up with the new electric lights and it blazed with a glow I do not know if it ever had when in place._

_Ah, the memories the sight stirred in me…_

The old man lifts his head and stares off into space, remembering, and closes his eyes to try and picture it more vividly. His remembrance fades into dreams as he nods off. An image of the golden chandelier spins through his vision, floating up into the air and restoring itself to its full former glory, shining and sparkling as though made of an infinite number of individually glowing specks, providing light to the stage below where a number of male soloist ballet dancers practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter, principal dancer E. Aster Bunnymund performs gloriously in a rehearsal of an adaptation of Chalumeau’s “Hannibal” as we are introduced to the new owners of the Ballet Populaire, Sanderson Mansnoozie and Nicholas St. North, as well as the new patron Jamie, Vicomte de Bennett.
> 
> Next up, "Chapter 2: Hannibal".


	2. Hannibal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Principal dancer E. Aster Bunnymund performs gloriously in a rehearsal of an adaptation of Chalumeau’s “Hannibal” as we are introduced to the new owners of the Ballet Populaire, Sanderson Mansnoozie and Nicholas St. North, as well as the new patron Jamie, Vicomte de Bennett.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to add a glossary of the French ballet terms used. Please feel free to correct any errors I may have made. 
> 
> _en pointe_ = "on point", meaning on the tips of the toes. Ballet shoes help to support this motion between the box around the toes, and the shank up the sole.  
>  _demi-plié_ = a "half bend" of the knees  
>  _grand jete_ = "great jump," a long jump where the dancer typically raises his/her arms and legs to apparently prolong the hang time and create an appearance of floating in the air.  
>  _petite allegro_ = "small fast", a series of quick short jumps

Principal dancer E. Aster Bunnymund is tall for a dancer, but it does not come at the expense of the required upper body strength. And lower body strength as well: his white leggings show off Bunnymund’s muscular derriere as he leaps an astounding height into the air, fluttering his feet on the way down. Long ribbon-like strips of bleached leather are wrapped around Bunnymund’s feet and ankles to provide support for his motions. This is not quite a dress rehearsal, so he does not yet wear his wig, instead letting his perfectly styled hair flow free. It is not so long as to be a bob, but not so short to actually be a short haircut, and the black has striking streaks of premature gray. The hair moves with the dancer’s motions, blowing back as he strides across the stage _en pointe_ , rising slightly from his head as he dips his knees in a _demi-plié_ , and flattening again when he jumps once more, this time in a _grand jete_ with his legs spread almost horizontally. This is followed by a series of quick small _petite allegro_ jumps, the sort which leads some others to call him “Bunny.” 

Never to his face though; Bunnymund has an amazing temper on him, and the lungs and vocal cords to back it up. Only prima ballerina Sophie Bennett could get away with calling him “Bunny,” and that only barely. 

A small lean young man with white hair watches Bunnymund from the sidelines. He wears brown leggings and his dark blue shirt is tight against his wiry frame. Though Jack Frost is a talented soloist, Bunnymund is the principal dancer and would have the limelight every time. Watching Bunnymund glide across the stage and defy gravity with his _jetes_ , Jack has no envy in him. Even though Jack would sometimes rib the lead dancer by calling him “kangaroo,” the simple truth of the matter was that Bunnymund was strength and power personified - even if he was a diva that the rest of the company had to tip-toe around to prevent temper tantrums. 

Coming to the end of his solo routine, Bunnymund dips a low bow facing the audience, remaining low as he waits for applause. And keeps waiting. Jack smirks to himself. Finally Bunnymund looks up and clears his throat, and with this the three men watching finally begin clapping. Two are older and both somewhat roly-poly, one short and sporting a golden suntan and clashing brown and yellow clothes, and the other tall with a long white beard, red coat, and black pants. Both wear equally large grins in appreciation of Bunnymund’s art. The third man is younger, probably in his early 20’s, and has the look of a rich dandy: silk jacket, well ironed pants, shiny patent leather shoes, and a stylish cane clearly just for show. Whispers among the cast and crew quickly let Jack identify the two older men as the new owners of the Ballet Populaire, Sanderson Mansnoozie and Nicholas St. North, respectively, and the younger man as Jamie, Vicomte de Bennett, their new patron and distant relation to Sophie. 

“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” the large Monsieur North in red booms, waving his arms in an expansive gesture. The shorter Monsieur Mansnoozie taps him on the leg a couple times, jerking his head at Madame Toothiana and her coterie of ballerinas whom have been watching Bunnymund’s solo from the sidelines. Monsieur North inclines his head towards them, adding a belated “and ladies! I, North, and my colleague, Sandy, are proud to be the new owners of the Ballet Populaire, and we are deeply honored to introduce our new patron, Monsieur Bennett.” 

Jamie steps forward, places his cane firmly on the ground in front of him, one hand upon the large crystal sphere at the top and the other on his hip holding his jacket open, and bows with a flourish of his hand and jacket. “My mother and I are honored to support all the arts especially the world renowned Ballet Populaire.” Jamie’s hair is a rich brown, matching his eyes as he rises and sweeps them over the company. 

Madame Toothiana glides forward. Even though no longer in the limelight herself, her grace remains evident in every motion of her body. She curtseys to Jamie, sweeping wide the skirts of her rainbow-hued dress in return to his bow, and then repeats the gesture to the two new owners, and ends by holding her hand out towards the star of the show. “Gentlemen, Signor E. Aster Bunnymund, our leading dancer for countless seasons now. And Signora Sophie Bennett, whom I believe some of you already know.” Sophie glides forward and curtseys as well, bowing her blonde head in acknowledgement. Not so strong as the lead male dancer, Sophie’s wiry muscles are still toned and exact. 

“An honor, Signor.” Jamie inclines his head to Bunnymund. “I believe I'm keeping you from your rehearsal. I will be here this evening to share your great triumph. My apologies, madam.” 

“Thank you, Monsieur Bennett,” Toothiana replies. “Once more if you please, signor,” and she gestures Bunnymund back to his work. 

As Bunnymund returns to his start position, Jamie and the owners walk off and continue their discussion. Jack splits his attention between the three new powers in the house and Bunnymund’s rehearsal. He can occasionally hear them murmur someone’s name over the orchestra in the pit. They point and gesture at his friend Baby Tooth, daughter of Madame Toothiana, where she is stretching, readying for the chorus. He even catches all three looking at him at one point. Jack is used to eyes upon him as a soloist, but something in the quality of the new patron’s gaze is more intense than he is used to. 

A quick falling movement out of the corner of his eye catches Jack’s attention and he whips his head around in time to see the entire backdrop of the set crashing to the stage. Although at the front of the stage at the time, Bunnymund still jumps so high in surprise that Jack is instantly reminded of his nickname. Some of the other dancers scream, and Jack is surrounded by murmurs of “the Phantom of the ballet,” “he’s with us, it’s the ghost,” and “he’s here!” Luckily the waiting dancers have all been off the wings of the stage, not at the back. Another bit of motion catches Jack’s eye, and he watches as Bunnymund’s very hair seems to droop and his posture wilts, a sign of imminent meltdown. 

North surges forward seeing the change in Bunnymund, scolding the other dancers who continue to whisper to each other. “Good heavens, would you show a little courtesy! Monsieur,” North addresses to the lead dancer, putting one large arm on his shoulder to comfort him, “these things do happen—” 

Bunnymund flares into life, going from disappointed at losing the attention of his audience, to rage, in a moment. It is nothing Jack hasn’t seen a million times. He throws North’s arm off of his shoulder and straightens up. “Yeah mate, these things do happen – too much for my liking!” He casts his glare around the group now staring at him, as if trying to find someone to blame for the accident. Not finding any good targets, he takes a breath and continues his rant, poking his finger into North’s chest as his voice rises. 

“Well, until you stop these things from happening, this ‘thing’ does not ‘happen’!” Bunnymund draws himself up straighter and stalks off the stage, his body quivering with tension. Sophie’s quick glance takes in the mood of the room, and then she hurries off after him. 

“Oh great.” One of North’s large hands comes up to cover his forlorn face. “Now what? This is opening night!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter we deal with the fallout of prima donna Bunnymund storming off, soloist Jack Frost steps up to take his place in the opening performance, and Jamie recalls their childhood friendship.
> 
> Next up, "Chapter 3: Think of Me".


	3. Think of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We deal with the fallout of prima donna Bunnymund storming off, soloist Jack Frost steps up to take his place in the opening performance, and Jamie recalls their childhood friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _corps de ballet_ = "body of the ballet," refers to the main body of dancers in a ballet corps, any who are not singled out as soloists, etc.

“Well, until you stop these things from happening, this ‘thing’ does not ‘happen’!” Bunnymund draws himself up straighter and stalks off the stage, his body quivering with tension. Sophie’s quick glance takes in the mood of the room, and then she hurries off after him. 

“Oh great.” One of North’s large hands comes up to cover his forlorn face. “Now what? This is opening night!” 

Baby Tooth steps forward. “Jack Frost could dance it for you sir.” 

North looks up sharply and Sandy looks surprised. “The _corps de ballet_?” Jack says nothing as Madame Toothiana speaks up. 

“Let him dance for you, Monsieur. He has been well taught.” 

Jack is swept up in the commotion and led to the front of the stage to Bunnymund’s – no, to _his_ start position. Without thinking he places his feet in third position, toes pointed to either side, his right heel in front of his left. His right arm arches above his head and his left stretches out to the side. And then the music surrounds him and he begins to move. 

Jack glides smoothly across the floor in the first steps. He has never performed this outside practice on his own, but the steps come easily to him and all eyes are fixed on the youth. Where Bunnymund’s body is covered with well-defined muscles that scream of his strength, Jack’s body is lean and trim and whispers of efficiency. Jack leaps into the air, fluttering his feet on the way down, the shank of the brown practice shoes tied to his legs easily cushioning his lighter weight when he touches back down. Where Bunnymund achieved an amazing height to his first jump, Jack’s is more modest but smoother. He flows through his _en pointe_ steps, seeming almost hesitant at first, and his dip into a _demi-plié_ looks almost as if his knees are giving out. But Toothiana’s practiced eye catches what some others do not, and she sees that these apparent flaws are intentional, building tension in his watchers and allowing the dance to grow to a more dramatic crescendo, telling the story through his body. Jack’s lean build distributes more mass into his arms and legs, allowing him to seemingly float in the air for his _grand jete_. 

Jack is too wrapped up in his routine to see, he feels the music flowing throughout his body, but the entire corps watches him rapt, and matching grins spread across Sandy’s and North’s faces as they begin calculating how many tickets they will be able to sell with Jack as the lead dancer.

* * *

Opening night. Jack travels the stage in numerous small bounces that as executed by him resembles a leaf floating on the wind. 

From Box 3 Jamie watches Jack’s performance, entranced. Jamie follows his motions, so fluid and light, his eyes drinking in the beauty of his form. Ever since first seeing Jack earlier in the day, Jamie hasn’t been able to shake the feeling of something familiar about him, even while his lithe form reminds Jamie of something, someone.

And finally but all too soon the performance comes to an end. Jamie leaps to his feet with the rest of the crowd as the packed audience gives Jack his first standing ovation. Jack bends at the waist in a deep bow, and when he straightens again a large rakish grin is plastered across his face and Jamie remembers. 

Jackson! Shock passes over Jamie’s face as the memories come flooding back into him, and quickly morphs into pleasure at the recollection. Can it really be Jackson Overland? Jamie renews his cheering. It was so long ago, when they were young and innocent, that they were friends, swimming in the pond, throwing snowballs at each other and sledding together throughout the winter. What a change in Jack, taking the new stage name of Frost instead of Overland, his hair now white instead of the rich dark brown – dyed or some shock to his system? Grown now, he’s really not a bit the gawkish boy he had once been, instead growing into this supple strength that Jamie had not at first recognized. Well, Jack may not remember Jamie, but Jamie remembers him, and fondly. 

As the applause ends and the curtain falls, Jamie tries to slip off to see Jack, but he is stopped first by the owners, Sandy and North, who insist on pumping his hand a dozen times each. After that, some of the lesser patrons gather around him to thank him for lending his support, and then he can see that Madame Toothiana has been trying to catch his eye. Well, that is probably a good idea, as by now he would have to ask her where to find Jack anyway. 

Jamie later has no recollection of what he says to Madame Toothiana or she to him, but it leads to Jamie finding a bouquet of flowers to bring to Jack and her leading him to the appropriate dressing room. Somehow it does not surprise Jamie that Jack isn’t to be found in there, so Jamie and Toothiana continue searching for him, and finally they narrow down that he must be in the living quarters the company keeps for the higher ranked staff and their families. As they walk, Toothiana recounts how she took Jack in a number of years ago after some vaguely hinted at traumatic event, but leaves Jamie at Jack’s door without giving any further details. Jamie ponders it for a moment, then shrugs and nervously slicks back his hair and adjusts his tie before raising his hand to knock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just realized how short this chapter ended up being, sorry! Also, I'd originally pictured that the end of "Think of Me" occurred a few weeks after its start, and then read that it was actually the same night, so I had to make some changes. If you see any remnants of the original version, please let me know and I'll fix them. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack tells fellow dancer Baby Tooth of his Guardian of Music. 
> 
> Next up, "Chapter 4: Angel of Music"


	4. Angel of Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack recounts his training with his Angel of Music to fellow dancer Baby Tooth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts a few minutes earlier than the end of Chapter 3 (Think of Me), soon after Jack's performance has concluded.

Still flushed with the applause of the audience, Jack sits on his bed catching his breath for a moment before he begins unwinding the cords of his ballet slippers. A large mirror stands at the end of the bed, a dresser to its right, and in the corner is a small table with two chairs. 

“Bravi, bravi, bravissimi,” a voice calls to Jack, echoing throughout the small space of his room, and Jack jumps up to find the source of the voice - just in time to see the door open and his friend Baby Tooth step through. She rushes up to Jack and grabs his hands in delight. 

“Jack! Jack!” Baby Tooth jumps up and down chanting his name, and for a moment Jack thinks he hears an echo of her words coming from the dark corners of the room. “Jack! Your performance was amazing! All the patrons and the new owners have been trying to find you to congratulate you - where in the world have you been hiding? Really, you were perfect!” She continues in this fashion for a good three minutes, apparently never stopping to breathe, and Jack is unable to get a word in edgewise. As she crows over Jack’s performance, she flits around the room almost like a hummingbird. Jack follows her, trying to get her to calm down, his ballet slippers tossed to the side and then kicked under the bed as Baby passes them. 

Finally he interrupts. “Whoah whoah, slow down Baby Tooth!” 

She pauses as if to take a breath, her back to the bed and Jack facing her, but Jack can see that she is really just holding her breath, the air and the stifled words puffing her cheeks outwards. Then she blurts out, “I only wish I knew your secret! Who is this new tutor?”

Jack takes a deep breath himself and runs a hand through his hair. There are things he is reluctant to discuss even with his closest friend, but she deserves the truth however much it hurts. “Baby, when your mother brought me here to live, whenever I’d light a candle for my sister…” Jack’s voice catches at the memory, and he quickly rushes on. “Whenever I’d light a candle for her, I’d hear a voice from above and in my dreams. He was always there. You see, my mother once told me I would be protected by an angel. A Guardian of Music.” 

Baby Tooth’s mismatched eyes widen as Jack tells his story, and she tries not to bounce. “Jack, do you believe? Do you think some spirit summoned by your sister is coaching you?” 

“Who else, Baby Tooth? I used to dream of a guardian, but thought he was only some childhood fairytale. Now, as I dance I can sense him, and I know he’s here.” Jack takes Baby Tooth’s hands again in his cold ones to impress his earnestness upon her. “I can hear his voice calling to me softly, hiding somewhere in the shadows. Somehow, I know he’s always with me. He, my unseen muse.” 

A nervous laugh escapes Baby’s lips and she begins babbling again, a fountain of words spilling out of her. “Jack, you must’ve been dreaming, you know stories like this can’t come true. It’s just a children’s tale. Jack, you’re talking in riddles, and it’s not like you.” 

But Jack isn’t listening to her stream of words. His eyes are unfocused as he looks down and ahead, towards the bed, or perhaps underneath. He murmurs to himself. “Angel of music. Guide and guardian...”

Baby Tooth tugs on Jack’s hands. “Who is this angel?” She shakes his hands again and his head finally turns up towards her. 

“He’s with me even now...” Jack’s eyes remain unfocused despite looking straight at Baby Tooth. 

“Your hands are so cold!” Baby tries to rub them warmer, without any result. 

“…All around me…”

Baby Tooth looks up to Jack’s face and gasps at the paleness she sees. His skin is usually a porcelain that makes him appear fragile, but now, “Your face, Jack, it’s white!” His vivid blue eyes finally snap into focus on Baby’s, one light blue, one hazel. 

Jack shivers. “It frightens me.”

Baby grips his hands tighter. “Don’t be frightened.” 

A knock at the door startles them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks folks! I'd love to see some comments as well - for example anyone want to speculate on why Jack's hair is white? 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jamie goes to Jack’s room to renew their friendship, learns what drove Jack to change his name, and they reminisce about their shared past. Rating: Mature
> 
> Next up, "Chapter 5: Little Lotte"


	5. Little Lotte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie goes to Jack’s room to renew their friendship, learns what drove Jack to change his name, and they reminisce about their shared past. Rating: Mature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starts right after Chapter 3 (Think of Me) and around the same time as Chapter 4 (Angel of Music). That bedroom door must be quite thick! (Or else the noise from the rest of the ballet house prevents anyone from catching murmurs through it.)

Jamie nervously slicks back his hair and adjusts his tie before raising his hand to knock. 

Before he can do so however, he hears a booming voice from down the hall. “Monsieur, monsieur! I think we’ve made quite a discovery with Mr. Frost.” North raises both arms in an expansive gesture while approaching from Jamie’s right. Sandy strides beside him, his short legs making his gait look almost as though he were floating like one of the dancers. Both are dressed in their signature colors. As Sandy raises his hand to knock for Jamie, North continues with “Perhaps we can present him to you, dear monsieur.” 

Jamie quickly interrupts Sandy’s action before he can knock by placing a hand on his arm. “Gentlemen, if you wouldn't mind, this is one visit I should prefer to make unaccompanied.” 

As Jamie leans forward North catches sight of the bouquet Jamie has been holding behind his back and raises his bushy black eyebrows. “Oh ho! I see you visit florist for a little something for our star.” Sandy lowers his arm from the door and gestures for Jamie to display the bouquet for their inspection. He reaches his tanned hands towards the flowers but pauses before touching them, waiting for a nod from Jamie to do so. Sandy gently sorts through them, picking out the different types. As he does so, Sandy opens his mouth to speak, but North cuts him off before he can utter a word and narrates the meaning of each. Small blue stars: “Ah, forget-me-nots, such beautiful little things.” White carnations: “Remembrance. Oh, and what fascinating colors of roses: orange for passion and energy, and lavender for love at first sight!” North rubs his hands gleefully and looks at his companion. “It would appear they’ve met before.” Sandy rolls his eyes at Jamie, who tries to hide a blush by coughing into the elbow of his arm not holding the flowers. 

Sandy pulls back his hands from the flowers after gently rearranging them to show off their colors even better than they did originally. Sandy takes a breath and turns to North – who again interrupts him saying, “Come, Sandy. Let us leave the Monsieur Bennett to his re-acquaintance.” The two hook arms amiably, and continue off down the hallway to Jamie’s left. 

Jamie takes another deep breath, counts to twenty to let his heart rate come back down to normal and hoping for the flush to leave his cheeks, and finally knocks on Jack’s door. Jamie could have sworn he hears a small shriek from inside, but the door is quickly opened by Baby Tooth. She lets out a breath of relief at seeing it is only their mortal patron. 

Upon seeing Baby Tooth, Jamie narrows his eyes at the idea of Jack being alone with this young woman whom others undoubtedly would find attractive, not to mention that she apparently shrieked at Jamie’s knock interrupting whatever they were doing. He runs a critical eye over both Baby Tooth and Jack as she opens the door for him, and finds nothing out of place. Baby has changed into normal attire, with a brightly colored dress no less garish than those her mother habitually wears. Jack’s feet are bare and his wig is on the bed, but otherwise it appears he has not had the time to change out of his performance outfit, and he stands in the middle of the room in his tight white leggings and ruffled silver embroidered jacket. Jamie lets out his own breath of relief as Baby Tooth catches sight of the bouquet he still hides behind his back and bids a hasty goodbye to Jack, leaving them alone. 

Jack gestures Jamie to come into his room and he does so, shutting the door behind him. For a moment, Jamie is shy, keeping the flowers behind him still, but it is clear from the direction of his eyes that Jack knows Jamie has them, so Jamie presents the bouquet to Jack. He takes them with a delighted grin - the same one that had reminded Jamie of his identity, the same one he used to wear when they were getting into some mischief as children, such as throwing a snowball at an older girl who could have beaten them up, had she ever caught them – and at the smile Jamie’s tension uncoils slightly. Jack turns to his dresser where Jamie sees that there are already a number of other bouquets and no empty vases left, and Jamie is crestfallen. For a moment Jack considers what to do, then picks his least favorite bouquet (a dozen red roses thrown onto the stage, he knows not by whom, so cliché!), throws the flowers into the trash, and places Jamie’s into the vase. 

As Jamie watches Jack the silence stretches, and he tries hard not to adjust his tie yet again. Jack carefully arranges the flowers in the vase, turning one of the white carnations forward, and Jamie hears him murmur “remembrance.” Jamie blushes and is grateful that Jack faces the flowers and not himself. The florist helped him pick the flowers based on his description of his feelings and the message he wished to convey, but Jamie had not expected everyone in the theater to know the meanings of them. Jack tucks the blue forget-me-nots to either side of the bouquet, framing the central flowers, and then suddenly turns around to face Jamie. Their eyes lock, and for a moment Jamie’s heart is caught in his throat even as his eyes are caught in Jack’s, as bright a blue as the sky on a clear winter day. Then the corner of Jack’s eyes crinkle and Jamie knows he is smiling. 

“I do remember you, Jamie,” Jack says softly and fondly. Jack says nothing about the two roses’ colors. 

Jamie lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “I wasn’t sure if you would.” He takes an eager step toward Jack, his hands outstretched, but Jack ducks his head and looks away in evasion, and Jamie respectfully turns it into a gesture towards one of the chairs in the corner. “Shall we sit? My goodness, it’s been so long, whatever happened to you?” As he talks, Jamie pulls the chair out from the table and holds it for Jack to sit in. Jack smiles and comes over to the chair, alighting in it as lightly as a snowflake would. Jamie gently pushes Jack’s chair in to the table. He has to work hard to resist running his hand over Jack’s bare neck as he withdraws, his ivory skin so pure and entrancing. Crossing to the other chair, Jamie is relieved to see that his hands do not tremble as he pulls it out and settles himself in it. 

“It’s so good to see you again,” Jamie continues. “I didn’t realize it was you at first because you had changed your name. It’s Frost now?” Jamie knows he is babbling, but he wants to know everything about Jack, to make up for all the lost time, and cannot help himself in this one thing. “How did you end up here, and why ever did you change your name, not to mention your hair? And how is your sister, I’m sorry but I can’t recall her name…” Jamie trails off as he realizes something is wrong. The grin at renewing their acquaintance has faded from Jack’s face, leaving it cold and empty. Jack no longer meets his eye, and as Jamie watches he realizes liquid is pooling in Jack’s lashes. “Jack? Jack what’s wrong?” he asks concerned. 

Tears finally spill from Jack’s eyes and he puts his head down on his arms. For a moment there is no sound in the room at all as Jamie sits stunned, then he realizes Jack’s shoulders are shaking with silent sobs. Jamie quickly rises from his chair and in two strides is beside Jack’s chair and putting a comforting arm around his shoulders. Jack gasps and turns to throw his arms around Jamie’s torso. He holds Jamie tightly as loud sobs wrack his whole body. For a few minutes Jack clings to Jamie like a drowning man clinging to a log, and in between his gasps and tremors, the story starts to fall out of him, in bits and pieces. As he tells it, Jack’s tears lessen, but Jamie’s begin to flow. 

Jamie isn’t sure when he saw Jack last, but now he knows what triggered the separation. On a sunny winter day late in their childhood, Jack and his sister had gone to the frozen pond to skate. Being children they had not thought to check the thickness of the ice and had simply put on their skates and gone out onto it. 

“We were halfway across the lake when we heard the booming noise of cracks forming in the ice.” Jack’s words are soft, his voice drained of emotion. 

They immediately realized their mistake and started back for the edge of the lake as quickly as they could. 

“I was almost at the shore when I noticed she was no longer beside me.” Jamie shudders at the cold of Jack’s voice. “I turned to look for her just in time to hear her shriek and the cracking sound as the ice shattered under her and she fell in. I ran back towards her, but more of the ice cracked and broke up around the hole her body made going under. I… I couldn’t get close to where she fell…” Jack’s changeable eyes are the pale blue of pure ice dripping down a cliff side, and his voice freezes Jamie’s heart. Jamie closes his eyes, trying not to hear Jack screaming for the loss of his sister in his head, trying not to imagine the scene and failing. Jack’s cold emotionless words go on. 

Jack blamed himself for not jumping in the water after her anyway. He blamed himself for not checking the ice before they went out. He blamed himself for not knowing that they should throw themselves flat to spread out their weight, and instead staying on their sharp blades. He blamed himself for everything leading to his sister’s death. He even blamed himself for surviving. In Jack’s mind, he was and is a failure who messes up everything. 

It is this perception of himself on top of his innocent sister’s death which brings the tears to Jamie’s eyes. Jamie holds one arm around Jack’s shoulders as he finishes his story, and the other hand gently strokes Jack’s hair, bleached white by the shock of the event, as Jack rests his head against Jamie’s gray silk coat. Jack continues, murmuring into Jamie’s jacket. “Afterwards, I couldn’t face my mother so I left and started going by Jack Frost instead of Jackson Overland. Madame Toothiana took me in, gave me a home here in the ballet house, treated me as well as her own daughter Baby Tooth. They are a second mother and sister to me. They are the ones who set me on the path to learning the art of ballet.” 

Jamie continues to stroke Jack’s back and hair, gently leans forward to place a tender kiss on his forehead, and pauses his stroking to rest his hand against the back of Jack’s neck. Leaning back, Jamie looks down at Jack’s face, and thinks he can see a faint blush of lavender on his pale cheeks. Jack is no longer shaking, so Jamie reluctantly begins to release him, and is surprised when Jack pulls him back towards himself and continues to hold him tight. Jack takes three deep breaths, and then removes his right arm from around Jamie’s back – only to reach up for the back of Jamie’s own neck to pull Jamie down towards him. As Jack does so, he turns his face up to Jamie’s and intense blue eyes meet rich brown ones. 

Jamie’s breath catches in his throat as Jack’s face rises towards his. Jack presses his cool smooth lips against him, and Jamie closes his eyes as he parts his lips. A wet tongue slips over Jamie’s lips and his eyes snap open again to see Jack staring at him. Jamie’s pulse races as Jack sucks his upper lip into his mouth and between his teeth, and Jamie grips Jack’s body more tightly against his own. He can feel himself hardening and his breath comes in short gasps. Jack’s left hand snakes under Jamie’s jacket and over his shirt and brings goose bumps to his flesh. Jack’s other hand tightens in Jamie’s hair. Jamie can feel his pulse in his groin as his heart beats hard and fast. Jamie holds Jack tighter to him, trying to press their bodies even closer together. He opens his mouth against Jack’s and urgently pushes his tongue back into his mouth, running it over Jack’s perfect teeth, sucking on his lower lip. 

Running his hand down Jack’s back, Jamie is reminded that Jack still wears his costume from the performance, and a part of Jamie wants to rip it right off of Jack in his passion. Jack gasps against his mouth as Jamie slips his hand under the jacket and is surprised to feel only cool skin underneath, smooth to his fingertips. Jamie brings his other hand around to the front of Jack’s jacket and pulls back slightly to get at the buttons. And realizes that Jack is also pulling back and muttering something against his mouth. Coming back to his senses, Jamie is ashamed of the liberties he has been taking of Jack in such a vulnerable state, and Jamie quickly backs off further, releasing Jack’s body and taking a step backwards. 

Jamie blinks his eyes a few times to re-center himself, and furtively licks his lips. He tastes Jack’s mouth on his, and it makes his groin tighten again. Jamie takes a breath and starts to apologize when Jack chuckles and a grin splits his face. 

“You have nothing to apologize for Jamie,” Jack reassures him. 

“Well, I don’t know what customs are like in the theater,” Jamie replies, folds his arms across his chest to keep himself from doing something stupid with them, and crosses the small room to the bed to put a little distance between himself and Jack. “But I’m used to, well, getting to know someone a little bit first.” 

At this Jack blurts out with a crude sound somewhere between a laugh and a snort. “Hah! I don’t know what sorts of ideas you have about the theater, but we already do know each other quite well. Don’t you recall my mother’s story of Little Lotte?” Jack rises from his chair and steps to pursue Jamie. 

A grin splits Jamie’s face as he plunks himself down on the bed. He recites, "'Little Lotte let her mind wander.'" 

“You do remember that,” Jack nods approvingly and steps to the side of the bed himself. 

"'Little Lotte thought,'" Jamie begins, and Jack joins in with him on "'am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins or shoes?'" 

And Jack finishes "'or of riddles or frocks?' Hey, what was your favorite thing that we did together?" Jack asks, settling down on the other side of the bed from Jamie. 

Closing his eyes and leaning back against the wall, away from Jack sitting with his leg nearly touching his own, the memory is as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. “We were in the attic. The corners were dusty and there was this… old smell to everything. We had a picnic blanket that we’d set down in the middle of the floor. I can’t remember what we actually brought to eat though.”

“Chocolates,” Jack supplies. Jamie opens his eyes, the memory fading. The impish grin is back on Jack’s face, and Jamie watches him. 

“Chocolates? That’s not really a picnic,” Jamie protests, sitting up straight again. “And where would we even get chocolates?” 

“That one’s all on you, you’re the one who brought them,” Jack reminds him. “My favorite memory is of sitting in front of the fire in the evening, my mother playing the violin.” Jack pauses and gestures a hand towards Jamie, to see if he can fill in the rest. Almost as though Jack is on the stage, even such a small gesture involves a smooth twist of the wrist. 

“And we read to each other dark stories of the North.” Jamie can’t take his eyes off of Jack, and his heart is beating faster again as they share their memories, sitting just so close to each other on the bed. Jack was right, it’s not like they just met, they have known each other for nearly all their lives, with only a short hiatus recently. As if to be sure of Jack, or to be sure this isn’t just a dream, Jamie quizzes Jack in return. “Do you remember what Little Lotte decided was her favorite thing?” 

With a nodding laugh Jack provides the right answer: "'What I love best,' Lotte said, 'is when I'm asleep in my bed, and -'" and this time Jamie adds his voice to Jack’s “'- the Guardian of Music dances through my head!'”

Jamie can’t restrain himself any longer, he reaches out and grasps both of Jack’s cold hands in his, pressing his leg against that of the smaller yet more athletic young man. “You danced like an angel tonight.” He watches Jack with an intense, hungry gaze, willing him to see what it is that Jamie sees in him. 

But Jack’s gaze has turned inwards. “Mother said that in my time of need, the people we love would come back to us from heaven as an Angel of Music. Well, my sister is dead, Jamie, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music.”

Jamie grins at this latest whimsy of Jack’s. “Oh, no doubt of it. All this talk of picnics has made me hungry. Let’s go to supper!” He stands, pulling Jack’s hands up with him. Jamie is not really hungry, at least not for food, but his heart is beating so fast, he just wants to push Jack back upon his bed, he needs a distraction, something to help him cool off and slow down. 

Jack makes a moue. “No, Jamie, the Guardian of Music is very strict.”

“Well, I shan't keep you up late!” Jamie grins at Jack’s joke. 

“Jamie, no.” 

But Jamie would hear none of Jack’s fanciful protests. “You must change, you’re still in your costume. I'll order my carriage and I’ll be back in two minutes - Little Lotte.” Jamie bows over Jack’s hands still in his, and then gently presses a dry kiss onto the back of each while looking up at Jack. He steps back a pace, then turns and opens and dashes out the door to Jack’s room. 

“No, Jamie, wait!” But it is too late, the door swings shut behind him. Jack walks over to the door and leans his hands and his forehead against the wood for a moment, then reaches down with one shaking hand and locks it. With an exhale, Jack turns and leans his back against the door and sinks down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I wasn't too much of an evil author with Jack's sister there. I feel bad [fridging](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Women_in_Refrigerators) her, but the characters I'm using being so male dominated really do lend themselves to it. I hope the beginnings of smut make up for it! 
> 
> This one took me forever to write. I think because I don’t usually ship Jamie/Jack, their interactions didn’t come easily to me. I had to lean heavily upon the original text of _Phantom_ , as well as drawing inspiration from authors of other RotG ships I do like better such as [not_poignant](http://archiveofourown.org/users/not_poignant/pseuds/not_poignant)’s [From the Darkness We Rise](http://archiveofourown.org/works/642848/chapters/1166528). But I’m glad it’s done, because now I get to start work on _The Mirror/The Phantom of the Opera_ and you have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to writing these! 
> 
> In the next chapter, as Jamie returns, he hears Jack talking to someone, which is impossible, and breaks back into Jack’s room just after he has disappeared. 
> 
> Next up, “Chapter 6: The Mirror”


	6. The Mirror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Jamie returns, he hears Jack talking to someone, which is impossible, and breaks back into Jack’s room just after he has disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally learned how to see my statistics, thank you so much to the people who've subscribed! :) It really brings a huge smile to my face that there are people who want to know when I post installments. ^_^

“No, Jamie, wait!” But it is too late; the door swings shut behind him. Jack walks over to the door and leans his hands and his forehead against the wood for a moment, then reaches down with one shaking hand and locks it. With an exhale, Jack turns and leans his back against the door and sinks down to the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. 

Jack’s thoughts turn inwards. Everything had been going so wonderfully with Jamie. He had learned why it was that Jamie was watching him so intensely. It was so good to reminisce with him about their childhood. True it brought up painful memories of his sister, but that was something that would always be a part of him - however long he might live he would carry her in his memories. And the sorrow was washed away by the feel of Jamie’s hand brushing gently against the back of his neck. And by the taste of Jamie’s mouth, warm and rich, as though just kissing him could satisfy every hunger Jack ever had in his life. Well, every hunger except one, because that one his Guardian of Music would have him satisfy with no other but himself. 

As Jack thinks of the Guardian, he realizes the lights in the room have dimmed. He looks up from where he sits on the floor to see the gas lamps flickering and the shadows growing. Jack rises to his feet in apprehension, watching the lights wane and the complimentary darkness wax. And then a voice rises, velvet smooth and echoing throughout the room. 

“Insolent boy! This slave of passion, basking in your glory!” The voice seems to emanate from the dark corners of the room. Jack turns his head, flicking his eyes from one shadow to another, trying to find the source of the words. “Ignorant fool!” the rich entrancing voice continues. “This brave young suitor, sharing in _my_ triumph!” 

Finally the words penetrate to Jack, and he knows this is his Guardian of Music. He knows that he is unworthy of the angel’s tutorage. And he knows the Guardian is angry at his weakness, at his nearly falling for the other man’s slick words and warming touch. An angry Guardian does not make for a good muse, and Jack must keep the spirit sent by his sister happy at all costs. Jack falls back down to his knees and begs. 

“Angel, I hear you! Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me! Angel, my soul was weak forgive me. Enter at last, Master!” Jack keeps his eyes demurely on the ground, hands clasped in his lap. 

The voice that echoes throughout the room now warms slightly as he responds, “Flattering child you shall know me, see why in shadow I hide.” The Guardian’s voice flows smoothly, almost as though singing, and at first Jack is uncertain from where it originates. The corner furthest from the remaining gas light? Underneath the bed? Behind his dresser? “Look at your face in the mirror,” the voice continues, and as Jack turns to face the large mirror at the foot of his bed, he realizes the Guardian’s voice is coming from behind it. Jack rises and takes a step towards the mirror, entranced, obeying the command to look at himself. His skin is a pale white, only enhanced by the white and silver costume that he still wears. 

As he watches, the shadows behind him seem to coalesce as the voice now takes form behind him, the darkness contrasting with Jack’s brightness. “Look at the mirror, I am there inside!” Jack stares enraptured at their images together. The Guardian looms behind Jack, tall and dressed all in black. 

Jack’s eyes are large, his pupils dilated until hardly any blue is left, as he calls out nearly in an ecstasy, “My Angel of Music, my guide and guardian. Grant to me your glory. Guardian of Music, hide no longer. Come to me, strange angel!” 

The Guardian leans over Jack, places his gray hands upon the youth’s shoulders, leans forward and whispers into his ear. “I am your Guardian of Music. Come to me: Angel of Music.” Warmth flows through Jack from the hands on his shoulders, a feeling so unlike the goose bumps that Jamie’s touch stirred in him, and yet just as tantalizing.

* * *

Jamie hurries from Jack’s room to fetch his carriage to take them to dinner. He floats on a cloud as he moves through the ballet house, even more in a daze than when Madame Toothiana led him in the other direction earlier. He just keeps recalling the feel, the taste of Jack’s lips against his, of Jack’s tongue in his mouth, of the cool skin at the nape of Jack’s neck under his fingers, of Jack’s smaller lithe body pressed against his. Jamie adjusts his pants as he walks more quickly. 

At first Jamie felt guilty for pressing himself upon Jack while he was grieving, but the more Jamie thinks about it, the less he thinks that interpretation of events is accurate. Jack initiated the kiss, and he’d also been the one to point out how well they knew each other already. The only difference was that they were adults now, and what had been a childhood friendship was now blossoming into… more. 

Jamie stops suddenly, seeing that he is walking back towards Jack’s room once again, and then realizes that he must have ordered his horses harnessed and the carriage brought around already. With a quick shake of his head at the daze he is in, Jamie begins walking again, rushing back to get Jack from his room. Despite having been oblivious of his route both times traveling it so far this evening, Jamie manages to flawlessly trace his path back to Jack once again. 

Stopping outside Jack’s door, Jamie once again runs his fingers through his hair and adjusts his tie, then raises his hand to knock. And pauses, hearing voices through the door. Whose voice could that be? Jamie cocks his head slightly to listen. It is a man’s voice, too high pitched to be the owner North (though come to think of it, Jamie has never heard Sandy’s voice, but the two had yet to be seen apart). The voice is too slick to be Bunnymund. Who is in there?

* * *

Warm hands press against Jack’s shoulders. Lips right next to his ear whisper “I am your Guardian of Music,” and the breath on Jack’s earlobe makes a shiver run down his spine.

* * *

Jamie raps loudly on the door. “Jack? The carriage is ready for us.” He hears the voice from Jack’s room again, softer this time. “Jack, are you okay in there?” Jamie knocks harder, and tries the door handle. Locked, Jack locked the door for some reason.

* * *

Jack’s eyes close as he feels warmth running through him at the Guardian’s words. There is some noise at the door, but it doesn’t matter. “Come to me: Angel of Music,” the voice purrs into his ear, and Jack draws a shuddering breath. The commotion at the door grows louder, and Jack’s eyes begin to open at the disturbance when he feels the hands grip more tightly upon his shoulders. Shadows rise up around himself and the dark form behind Jack, and then it doesn’t matter if his eyes are open or closed, all he can see is darkness.

* * *

Unable to wait any longer, certain something is wrong, Jamie begins throwing himself against the door. After three strikes the door breaks, and Jamie falls into the room and onto the floor. Some dark shape stands in front of him, and Jamie can see his bright Jack in the mirror – _his Jack!_ – still dressed in his gleaming costume. Jamie’s eyes focus and he realizes the darkness is another man, looming over and behind Jack with his hands on Jack’s shoulders. And then Jamie sees nothing for a moment as the shadows in the room seem to congeal around the pair in front of him. Jamie finally finds his voice. 

“Jack!” 

The shadows clear and Jamie is left alone in the room. 

“…Guardian?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! Well, only if you don't actually know Phantom. :-P 
> 
> OMG you don't know how much I've been looking forward to the next chapter! Which you'll be able to tell because it's basically twice as long as any of the previous chapters too. But I like to have a few chapters written ahead (I'm currently writing Chapter 10) so you have to wait a few days for this next one. *evil grin*
> 
> In the next chapter Jack travels down to the Guardian’s lair. 
> 
> Next up, “Chapter 7: The Phantom of the Opera (or, The Guardian of Music)”


	7. The Phantom of the Opera (The Guardian of the Ballet)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack travels down to the Guardian’s lair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, last week was finals and then I was at a wedding out of state this weekend. 
> 
> More glossary.
> 
>  _pas de deux_ = “walk of two,” a dance which is a duet  
>  _en demi pointe_ = “in half pointe,” or part way to _en pointe_ (on tips of toes): high on the balls of the feet.  
>  _pas de bourree_ = “stepping like the bourree dance,” in ballet refers to a stride where each step is slightly to the side, then the individual dips their knees slightly before taking the next step.  
>  _fouettés en tournant_ = “turning whip,” a specific type of turn where one leg (the working leg) is in the air and is whipped around the body to provide the momentum for the turn, and the standing leg is used to support the body while the dancer alternates standing flat on the foot, and rising to the ball of the foot while whipping the working leg around.  
>  _grande jeté en avant_ = “great jump forward”

Jack isn’t sure how he got here. He is in a twisting dark passageway; stalactites appear to be melting down from the ceiling overhead, bringing it claustrophobically close above their heads. “Their” heads, it’s a “them” walking down this corridor, not just Jack. No, not walking, Jack is in a _pas de deux_ with the dark man beside him resting one hand upon Jack’s back at the waist. 

Realizing that he has yet to acknowledge his partner, Jack takes one step backwards and bows to him, placing his bare left foot behind him flat on the floor, and bending until his left shin rests upon the ground as well. His right calf is vertical from the ground, his thigh making a right angle to it at his knee. Jack places his right hand upon his chest and bends forward over his leg at his waist, his left arm sweeping behind him. His partner’s feet in black ballet shoes are in fourth position, toes outwards, right foot a few inches in front of the left towards Jack, and he bows his back slightly with his arms curved towards Jack in homage. 

Rising from his bow, Jack strides forward _en demi pointe_ , risen up on the balls of his feet, taking long elegant steps, arms arched in front of his body. His partner curves his left arm around the small of Jack’s back and strides perfectly in synch with him, taking smaller steps to make up for his greater height. After a few paces the narrow corridor opens up into a larger space, and the rhythm invading Jack demands he respond. Jack’s strides take him to the left, his right arm now stretching out towards his partner who breaks off towards the right. They arc around in a circle, both their legs flowing to the side and knees dipping slightly with each step in a _pas de bourree_ , the circle bringing them back together at the end. As they approach each other, Jack rises onto his toes and steps forwards with tiny footsteps while _en pointe_. For a moment he remembers that he has no shoes on and fears the pain and injury that will inevitably come from being _en pointe_ barefoot, but the need to move overwhelms the fear and he continues to step. 

As Jack’s small steps bring him closer, the other man holds his right hand out to Jack. For a moment Jack does not recognize the man whose toned legs are sheathed in tight black leggings, matching black clinging to his arms, but the confusion fades as Jack continues to dance with his partner; his eyes may not know this man, but his body does. The man’s torso is covered with a dark silken vest that somehow still gleams in the faint light of the room. Jack accepts the man’s hand into his own, and it is warm in his cool grasp. Jack leans on it confidently as he lifts his right foot from the ground forwards above his head, knowing from many hours’ experience that the dark man will support his weight as the steps require. 

Jack brings his foot back down towards his knee, and his partner lifts his right arm above his head beside his free arm. With a gentle twist of his wrist, his partner rotates Jack around his left foot, still _en pointe_. Through the slow turn, Jack allows his head to spin with the rest of his body, and gets his first good look at the cavern around him. The walkway Jack and his partner stand upon stretches down along the edge of a deep chasm. Large empty cages, large enough to hold a man, hang from the ceiling and a small bit of moonlight filters in through holes in the roof. Below Jack can hear the sound of water flowing but sees only mist. 

As he comes out of his slow turn, Jack stretches his right leg out behind him and leans forward towards the dark man, who supports his torso effortlessly and then rights him again. Jack curls his leg back towards his left knee, still on the tip of his left toes, and now the man’s warm hands are around Jack’s slender waist, and with the slightest of pushes Jack spins within his hands, focusing his eyes on the empty air before him, whipping his head around to spot on each rotation. His partner stops Jack when he is facing him, and Jack is very aware of his large hands around his small waist and the man’s yellow-gold eyes staring intensely into his. It is too much for Jack, and he bends backwards, his head and arms arching away from the other as though striving to be free, but the hands on his waist remain strong and steady, holding his lower half close to the heat of the man. Jack can feel the man’s hips pressing against his, and he feels a tightness within himself entirely unrelated to the dance. 

Before he can embarrass himself though, the Guardian turns him again to face away, but still holding his body close. Jack feels the taller man press himself against his back, and Jack feels a pulse against his derriere. He brings his arms above his head again when the Guardian gives him a small push. As he is still _en pointe_ , Jack must go with the motion lest he fall, and he takes a few tiny steps forward, arms floating alongside himself as though he flutters on the wind, before lowering himself back down to _demi pointe_. He can feel the stinging in his toes, especially of his left foot due to the twirling, but he ignores it as he takes a few steps, _pas de bourree_ , towards the right, one hand stretched in front of him and the other behind. 

Jack does not realize when the other reaches out for his hand and clasps it, but when it begins tugging on him he responds. Muzzily he realizes that his hand is now the same temperature as the Guardian’s, he must be heating from their motions. It must be their dance, it can’t be anything else warming him and making his pulse race. It couldn’t be. The Guardian guides him closer, pulls him in until Jack’s right side is resting against the front of the other man, Jack’s right hip against the other’s groin. A dark arm curls around Jack’s left side, grasping his hip and pressing gently against the sensitive spot there. Jack gasps at the sensation and feels himself go boneless for a moment. The arm curled around Jack cradles him as he sags backwards, and his head tips back until it rests upon the black-clad shoulder of the figure behind him. Unconsciously, Jack’s arms rise in front of him in perfect arcs, and the Guardian’s free arm rises alongside his, the fabric of their shirts gently brushing. For a moment Jack wonders what it would feel like to have that gray skin gently brushing against his paleness instead of the fabric, and then he is being tipped forward onto the balls of his feet once more. 

This time instead of pushing him away though, the hands on his waist hold him close as the Guardian behind and beside him begins moving forward, guiding Jack’s steps with him. Right foot out then in front into fifth position, dip knees gently. Left foot out then in front into a mirrored fifth, dip knees gently. Repeat. Jack realizes they are striding down the walkway around the pit and into the mist. 

They continue down the walkway for some time, occasionally stopping at wider points for Jack to rise to his toes again, lifting a leg straight behind him and leaning forward as if towards escape, though whether back up the walkway or over the edge Jack is never truly certain. Each time his Guardian holds tight to his hand and pulls him back in to a spin, or curls an arm around his waist, sometimes brushing lower on his hips or in front, and Jack sags into the protection of his body. 

Throughout the entirety of this _pas de duex_ they speak no words, but Jack feels the words inside himself as they dance. Every dance tells a story, this one no less for the lack of an audience besides the _deux_ themselves. Jack’s body sings of the strange dark man who comes to him at night to tutor him in the art of his body. The man is so entrancing that Jack cannot resist his talent, even as he tries to learn and nothing more. The Guardian’s body tells the story of controlling Jack’s motions and emotions, a little touch on his hip here, a brush of the back of his hand against Jack’s face there, even a little flick of the wrist at the back of Jack’s neck bringing shudders to them both. The beauty of Jack’s body begs to be shaped and formed, and the Guardian answers that plea. 

Jack feels himself being molded to the other’s wishes and is not entirely sure if it is against his will. He wants to be brought to the peak, to the pinnacle of his talents, but when he tries to think it feels so difficult, his head is all muddied, and there is something wrong with that. But then Jack feels a confident warm hand helping him to lift his leg even higher than before, and if this fuzziness is the price he must pay to bring out his abilities, perhaps it is worth it. 

Further they descend into the cavern, and now the source of the water is beside them, flowing gently, mist rising from the cold waters. They dance alongside the water on the carved stone path that follows the underground river, and the temperature drops as they continue. Soon Jack is shivering, even as he is overheated from the long exertions of dancing for… he doesn’t know how long they have been traveling down into the depths of the earth, but it is on top of the practice during the day and the opening performance in the evening, and Jack is fatigued. He shivers as they step forward yet again, and he can see that ahead the water broadens out into a subterranean pond. Jack’s breath is visible in the air as he tries not to gasp in the cold air his lungs need, and he realizes that the part of the pond furthest to his left is actually frozen over, creating a pathway to the continued cavern on the other side. 

Jack continues to look at the pond, turning his head to follow it to the other side, apprehension growing as he does so, when his Guardian of Music steps around him to block his view. The Guardian’s hand rises between them, then over Jack’s face and travels slowly downwards in an unmistakable gesture that Jack should close his eyes. He does so, his eyelids fluttering down slowly with the hand, which then returns to his hip and spins him around so that his cold back is pressed once more against the warm front of the Guardian. The hands tense the slightest bit, just _so_ , and Jack knows to dip his knees down once, twice, and on the third time he jumps just as the hands lift him into the air. He is smoothly turned so that his taught stomach muscles rest against the stronger man’s shoulder, his left leg is straight, toes pointed, his right toes point at his other knee, one arm stretches forward and the other arcs over both their heads. With his eyes still closed, Jack feels the Guardian take a few steps forward, and then one down, and with a warning tap Jack is lowered to the ground once more. 

He feels the cold even before his bare feet touch the ice. He manages not to flinch at either the cold or the realization that he is now standing on a frozen underground pond, and the cold quickly seeps into his pained toes, numbing them to their pain. Eyes still closed, he follows the guidance from the hands still on his waist, and they cross the ice quickly, purposefully, and still dancing in smooth steps which gently impact the ice. Jack realizes they must have reached the other side when the hands guide him again into two dips and then a _jete_ up onto the Guardian’s shoulder, and they step up onto the stone at the other side. Placed back onto the ground, Jack feels one of the hands leave his hips, and from the disturbance of the air in front of his face, he can tell that it is slowly swiping up in front of his face. With the same deliberateness as before, Jack opens his eyes to see another small cavern in front of him, this one filled with candles and a large pipe organ. The faint light from the moon which illuminated the larger cavern does not reach back into this darker area. 

The Guardian stands even closer though, his hands returned to Jack’s waist, pressing so gently it almost tickles but instead sends a thrill through him. The hands grasp a little tighter and pull Jack’s hips towards those of his Guardian, and Jack can feel the man’s hardness press against him for just a moment before he curves his face forwards towards Jack’s. For a moment Jack thinks the man is going to kiss him, but instead he whispers, the first words Jack has heard in what seems like hours, “Dance, my Angel of Music.” 

And dance Jack does. Pulling away from his Guardian with a mix of reluctance and eagerness, Jack takes long smooth steps, then jumps and flutters his feet on the way down. 

“Dance my Angel,” the soft voice urges again. Upon landing Jack rises onto the balls of his feet, then kicks with his left foot and twirls around the right. He spots on his Guardian’s bright golden eyes, practically glowing in the faint candlelight. The shadows in the corners of the room seem to watch his movements eagerly. 

“Dance for me.” The voice is rich with the Guardian’s intensity. Jack begins a series of _fouettés en tournant_. Rising onto the ball of his right foot he whips his working left leg around himself from front to back, tucking it in behind his right knee for a moment while he descends back onto a flat foot and whips his head back around to his Guardian’s face. The candles cast flickering shadows across both their forms, seemingly alive with the movement of the flames, but the Guardian’s eyes glow at Jack with pride in his work. Jack chest heaves with the exertion as he struggles to fill his lungs. 

“Dance, my Angel!” Around and around Jack twirls, always spotting on his Guardian of Music, faster and faster. The pain in his toes begins to break through his concentration, and Jack feels himself wobble a bit as he rises to _demi en pointe_ for one of his turns. He closes his eyes for a moment to focus on his movements, to block out the distracting motions in the darkness, but it only makes him dizzier when he is unable to spot on anything in his turns. 

“Dance for me!” And with this last incantation, Jack steps out of his spin and leaps forward into a _grande jeté en avant_ , touching down lightly again with his feet together. As he does so he realizes his legs can no longer support him, and rather than fall to the ground he manages to fluidly sink into a forward split. Unable to catch his breath, Jack’s torso sags over his forward leg, and he slumps over bonelessly. As he does so, he feels the darkness rise up around him again and claim him. At the last moment before he succumbs, a silken voice seems to caress his mind. 

“Surrender yourself to the darkness, Jack, and I will teach your soul to fly.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for basically no dialogue here. This work basically substitutes dancing for songs, and this one is all song. I hope I managed to convey the meaning of the song through the description of the dance. I really enjoyed writing this though, I’d been looking forward to it for a while. ☺ This chapter is also supposed to be an homage to the RotG scene where Jack invades Pitch's lair in search of the tooth box. 
> 
> The _pas de deux_ described herein is inspired by [this recording of the Nutcracker _Grand Pas de Deux_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gz9PG3Fu0g), which I admit is a slight bit anachronistic (but at least fits the general time). The Nutcracker was first performed in 1892. The novel of Phantom was written in 1910 with the Prologue scene set in 1905 (according to Wikipedia), however the majority of the musical is set in 1881, before the Nutcracker was composed. Jack’s costume (still worn from “Ch 3: Think of Me”) is akin to that of the man in the above link (though more silver than gold), and I am picturing the Phantom wearing something more like the man in [this version](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRlIy1zNnyE). 
> 
> I’ve decided to skip “The Music of the Night” (which should've been the next chapter) for now (though the last sentence is a bit of an homage to it), though I may come back to it later. It was a hard choice, but it just doesn’t fit the narrative style I’ve been going for. This work is written in a [third-person personal/subjective narrative mode](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Narrative_mode#Third-person.2C_subjective), alternating between Jamie and Jack’s point of view. With Jack passed out at the end of this chapter in my version (or in a trance as some versions of Phantom have), there’s no one left to narrate Music of the Night. I could theoretically break my narrative style and do someone other than Jamie or Jack, but doing the Phantom’s POV _really_ wouldn’t fit the story – I never realized consciously before reading that Wikipedia page that you can have distinct individuals for the role of narrator (point of view of the story), protagonist (person you sympathize with), and focal character (person you’re most interested in). _The Phantom of the Opera_ is actually given as one of Wikipedia’s examples on this, in that Christine is the protagonist but the Phantom is the focal character, and as the original musical is in third person objective, there is no specific narrator (though it is implied by the Prologue that it could be Raoul). In my rendition of the story, I maintain Jack (Christine) as the protagonist, the Guardian (Phantom) as the focal character, and I more firmly establish Jamie (Raoul) as the primary narrator (and in some ways he vies for the protagonist role), with Jack as a secondary narrator. Basically, if both are in a scene and interacting I choose Jamie (he’s supposed to be a normal person both as Jamie and as Raoul, so I want my audience to see things from his point of view), while if Jamie isn’t present (as in this chapter) or isn’t taking any role at all in a scene (as in Chapter 2, “Hannibal”) I will switch to Jack’s perspective. 
> 
> Okay enough exposition. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack wakes from his swoon and his insatiable curiosity drives him to determine the Guardian’s terrible secret. Next up: Chapter 8, I Remember…/Stranger than You Dreamt It.


	8. I Remember / Stranger Than You Dreamt It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack finds out the Guardian’s terrible secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for a week here instead of 3 days. I've got a lot of work to do now that it's summer so I'm probably going to slow down my updating schedule. 
> 
> As mentioned in the (lengthy) end notes to the last chapter, I’m skipping “The Music of the Night” because narration from the Phantom’s point of view wouldn’t fit how I’m writing this. I did end up writing it and it's the next work in this series, however I suggest reading it after completing this work as it contains a major spoiler which is revealed in the climax of this one.

In the manner of one who has become accustomed to something and is then startled to experience its lack, Jack is roused by the cessation of the pipe organ’s playing. He is aware of light flickering on his eyelids, and he raises his arm over his eyes to block it out. Doing so however, Jack’s arm knocks into something, and a tinkle of a music box rises next to his head. Jack finally forces his eyes open and stares at the object. It appears to be a child’s musical jack-in-the-box, with the faces of clowns painted on the sides. Rather than having a clown pop out though, it’s a monkey holding cymbals that it claps together methodically, and wearing a fez. As Jack watches, it runs down and the music stops. Jack blinks his eyes a couple more times, and then begins to take in his surroundings, uncertain of where he is. 

There are candles, and there is mist swirling around the candles. He remembers dancing down a long dark hallway alongside flowing water, and now he can see passageways leading off of the cavern he is currently reclining in. Jack turns his head slowly to pan the room. The water, he recalls, ended at a frozen lake, and he crossed the lake with the help of a man, and with another slight turn of his head Jack’s eyes light upon the man. 

He stands in the shadows behind the keyboard to the organ, frantically scribbling something down on one of the many papers before him. The man’s hands in the light of the candle upon the keyboard are a sickly gray, not the color of normal skin at all. Jack’s eyes travel up from his hands to his wrists, which are now covered with the arms of a long flowing robe. Looking upwards further, Jack follows his arms to his shoulders, and where his shoulders meet his neck the man passes into shadow. It must be some funny trick of the light, but the shadows seem to meld into his skin, obscuring his neck and face. 

Jack rises slowly from where he has been lying. His legs are stiff but not sore, and he is pleasantly surprised to find his toes freshly bandaged and without pain as he tiptoes around the edges of the cavern towards the organ. That’s funny, even as he moves closer the man’s face becomes no clearer, still shrouded in darkness. Who _is_ that shape in the shadows? Closer and closer Jack creeps, managing to sneak around the man’s back so that he cannot be spotted even out of the corner of his eye. As Jack approaches, the man is completely wrapped up in his composition, moving between the piece of paper on which he is writing, and running his fingers quickly over the keyboard, though with the wind turned off so the pipes do not sound. Jack moves slowly and only when the man’s shadowed head is turned away from him; with the jerks of the man’s own head, he does not notice Jack’s motion in the slightest. The shadows around his face entrance Jack, and as he approaches arm’s length, Jack finally raises his hands towards the man’s head and reaches out to touch him. 

Before Jack’s hands actually reach the man’s face, maybe three inches away, he feels something push back against his fingers, flowing and granular, almost like sand, and in the same instant the man jerks his head away violently as though struck, the shadows whip away from the man’s face, and he whirls to face Jack. 

“Damn you!” he yells as Jack pulls back stunned. “You little prying Pandora!” Jack doesn’t understand what he just felt. There was something there, something physical and dark around the man’s head. Jack’s eyes are wide as he stares at the man’s feral yellow eyes. “Is this what you wanted to see?” he hisses, and as Jack watches the shadows behind the organ begin to move, taking on a life of their own. The man raises his arms slowly and the shadows rise up from the ground, swirling in something more substantial than mist, and dark as pitch. 

Jack’s eyes widen at the sight in front of him. Living darkness surrounds the man, flowing and moving around him. Jack scrambles backwards in panic and the man follows, yelling “Curse you! Now that you know, now you cannot ever be free.” And with his words the man halts where he is, but the shadows continue on towards Jack and begin to swirl around him, fear made tangible. Jack turns in place, trying to find a way around the blackness that has now surrounded him and traps him in place. The fear surges within him, swelling up in his chest and bringing his hammering heart into his throat so that he can barely breathe. He scans around himself, looking up and down as well, but the shadows are a wall wrapped around him. Jack realizes there is a sound, a soft susurrus that starts as barely audible as the echoes of the Guardian’s voice fade, then begins to rise first like windblown sand on stone, then increasing again into moans, then screams so loud Jack clamps his hands to his ears and pulls into himself, crouching down onto the floor of the stone cavern. Jack cannot hear his own yells over the noise filling the cavern. 

With one last burst of sound, the Guardian yells out “Damn you!” once more, and then the noise abruptly cuts off as the shadows spill back down onto the ground, like sand falling into the bottom of an hourglass. Jack watches them slip away from him, slithering away back into the corners where shadows naturally belong. His eyes follow the shadows as they retreat, and pull his gaze towards the Guardian’s feet. Jack lets his gaze travel up the long black cloak, and for a moment Jack is convinced that he does not actually wear a cloak of fabric, but a cloak of living shadows. Jack shivers and looks up to meet the Guardian’s gaze. 

Glowing golden eyes stare at him, seeming to capture all the light from the surrounding candles and focus it back at Jack. A feral smile spreads across his lips, and Jack can see teeth that are rounded and nearly as gray as the skin. A whisper slips out of his dark lips, “Is it stranger than you dreamed of? Than your nightmares?” He steps closer to Jack by a single stride as Jack unclenches slightly from his crouch. “Can you bear to look at me?” Another step, and Jack’s eyes flick down to the black clothing as it writhes in a way that fabric is not wont to do. Jack backs up a step. “Can you bear to even _think_ of what I am going through? As I burn in hell here?” His hands rise at his sides, and for a moment the shadows surge upwards with his gesture, but Jack watches him squint slightly and they subside once more. Once more the man steps forward, and once more Jack retreats before him. The man’s face is pleading now. “This loathsome… gargoyle who secretly yearns for heaven, but secretly… Oh Jack…” Jack’s back bumps up against the wall, there is nowhere else for him to retreat to. 

The man is close enough that he can reach out to touch Jack and he does so, putting one large hand on each of Jack’s upper arms, gripping tightly. He brings his face close to Jack’s and whispers intensely, “I know you are afraid now, but you will learn to see the man I truly am behind these shadows. Your fear will turn to love as you see through our dance what beauty we can create together.” And suddenly the Guardian leans forward, still holding Jack firmly, and presses his dark lips against Jack’s pale ones. Jack is unable to breathe for a moment, and then feels a warm tongue questing against his lips for entrance. He opens his mouth in a gasp and the tongue slips inside. Jack is motionless, shocked, as he feels the unexpected warmth in his mouth, feels his heart beating hard in his chest, his blood rushing away from his head to his groin so quickly that he feels lightheaded. 

Jack finally takes a normal breath through his nose, and just when he is finally able to respond, to tentatively push his tongue back against the other, the Guardian pulls away and lets go of his shoulders, leaving Jack reeling. 

“Come,” the dark man says, striding quickly away. He looks back at Jack, a small figure clad in white, standing alone in the middle of a large cavern with shadows creeping at the edges. The Guardian gestures impatiently. “We must return. Those two fools who run my theater must be missing you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn’t clear, instead of having a scarred face, this Phantom has living shadows which cloak and posses and torment him... Yeah, you know who it is, if you hadn’t caught it before (like from the tags...). But one of the conceits of this work is that I never actually name him. ;) The original prompt for this work suggested Bunnymund or Jamie as the Phantom, but this was just so much more appropriate IMO, it really fit. 
> 
> ~~I’m also skipping “Magical Lasso”, at least for now, though I’m thinking I may come back to it later if I get writer’s block (or busy with other stuff).~~ Actually, realized "Magical Lasso" does serve a purpose, so I decided to include it. 
> 
> In the next installment, the dancers are warned of the Phantom’s “Magical Lasso”.


	9. Magical Lasso

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dancers are warned of the Phantom’s magical lasso.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short update, but I realized it’s necessary for some other things that are coming up. Plus it buys me some time…

Despite how late the cast party went the night before, the _corps de ballet_ are backstage, stretching their legs on the bars built for that very purpose. Some of them have not yet slept; some of them did catch a few winks; none of them would have ever considered disobeying Madame Toothiana’s command after the performance that they would be ready to rehearse before sunup. Baby Tooth, perhaps more than the others, knows that the ballet mistress was not joking, for her mother is even harsher with her than the other dancers, and expects even more of her. Madame Toothiana is not yet present herself, but the ballerinas know to stretch and be ready to rehearse the instant she steps onto the sidelines. 

Baby’s left ankle rests on the bar, her knee straight. She bends forward, her hands cradling her left calf, her torso against her left thigh, her head down to stretch her neck. As she comes up out of the stretch a noose drops into her vision, the loop just large enough that it could catch her head and cinch tight around her neck. Baby shrieks and jumps backwards, about to warn the others when she hears a high-pitched laugh from above, and she looks up. 

Above, in the metal walkways from which the curtains are raised and lowered, stands Sophie Bennett, holding the other end of the rope and laughing so hard she looks ready to fall over the railing. Baby Tooth and the other ballerinas cluster beneath her now and glare up at her. 

“Oh look at you darlings,” the prima ballerina manages to gasp out. “Don’t you know you must always be on your guard against his magical lasso?” She abruptly stops laughing and deliberately leans forward against the guardrail. Her green eyes are dark with malice, and her blonde hair drapes dramatically over her face. “His skin is gray and sickly, covered with darkness, and he strikes from the shadows…” The ballerinas huddle together in fear at her words, and are about to begin whispering to each other when a familiar voice cuts them off, but laced with undertones of unaccustomed menace.

“Those who speak of what they know, find too late that prudent silence is wise.” Madame Toothiana appears in the door from the hallway, the many colors of her skirts reflecting her changeable temperament this day. Her head is turned up to face the young dancer in the walkway above as she speaks her words of caution. “Sophie Bennett, hold your tongue, he will burn you with the heat of his eyes.” Toothiana’s voice lowers to a whisper at the end of the sentence, and it is not clear if the words are meant as a heartfelt warning, or as a barely concealed threat. Hazel eyes are locked to Sophie’s green, and the dancer swallows convulsively then looks away. She quickly pulls up the rope, mumbling something about how the joke might not have been as funny as she thought, and scurries from the walkway. All the dancers’ eyes follow her as she goes, Madame Toothiana’s not least of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed my mind on skipping “Magical Lasso”, as you can see, partially because I’m having writer’s block on “Prima Donna” (Ch 12) and being really busy with work, and partially because it’s needed to establish that the Phantom does have a past which some of the characters know about. I didn’t really want to introduce a whole new character though (especially such a minor one, and one which I couldn’t figure out a good map to a RotG character for), and Sophie doesn’t really have much of an individual role in this work, so I substituted her for Joseph Buquet. 
> 
> In the next installment, while Jack is missing from the theater after opening night, a number of notes surface. Next up: Chapter 10, Notes (Part I)


	10. Notes (Part I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Jack is missing from the theater after opening night, a number of notes surface. (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like to keep a buffer of at least 3 chapters. I'd gone down to one update a week when I was stuck on writing a chapter, but I finally got over that so here's an update! :) 
> 
> In my Phantom headcanon, Andre and Firmin are completely interchangeable, therefore I’ve apportioned their roles/lines to Sandy and North in ways that I felt would fit the two RotG characters, rather than how they were in Phantom. And if that bothers any Phantom purists, well, wait’ll you see what else I’ve changed. *evil author grin*
> 
> Also, I'm currently writing "Masquerade". If anyone has requests on costumes for the characters, please let me know!

Sandy sits in a plush armchair and crosses one khakis-clad leg over the other resting his right ankle on his left knee, and spreads the newspaper across his legs. The headline on the front page reads “Mystery of the Dancer’s Flight” and is accompanied by two photos: one of Bunnymund in his last performance of the Ballet Populaire’s previous show, and one of Jack in his debut the night before. Sandy reaches a tanned hand to the coffee table on his right and picks up his English breakfast tea and sips. The sky outside is finally beginning to lighten, but Sandy has not yet sought out his bed after the previous night’s hullabaloo – not to mention the day’s craziness even before that! 

To think it was just yesterday when he and North had taken on the Ballet Populaire. They’d met the cast at their final rehearsals, only to have the famous principal dancer of the last ump-teen seasons, E. Aster Bunnymund, storm off the stage in a huff. Thankfully it turned out one of the soloists had gotten quite ahead through his ballet tutor and was able to stand in instead. 

Then right after the wonderful debut performance of Jack Frost, there were all the patrons who insisted on congratulating Sandy and North personally. North might be vain enough to think he had something to do with the success, but Sandy modestly knew better. Then they had run into their prime patron, the Viscount de Bennett, with his not-at-all subtle attempt to woo the new principal dancer. That boy could use some good imported Russian vodka! That’d loosen him up. Or a lay would, and Sandy thought he was well on his way to that when the Viscount came rushing about yelling for his horses to be hitched to his carriage, but then just a few minutes later he came back out yelling that Jack was gone. There wasn’t much Sandy could do about it if the principal dancer decided to spurn the advances of their prime patron, but it wasn’t wise to anger the patron, so Sandy had found him some vodka after all, and dragged him off to the cast party. After plying the young gentleman with enough spirits to drown a horse, Sandy and North had asked Madame Toothiana to find him a bed to sleep it off. 

Sandy puts his tea down, and reaches for another broadsheet, discarding the old one in a pile of things for North to read when he finally rises. North had decided that he would rather have a short nap than attempt to face the next morning on stimulants alone, and was convinced that Sandy would nod off throughout the day if he didn’t choose likewise. But Sandy had confidence in his tea, and instead of retiring went to read the overnight and early morning newspapers. The next one of which has the headline, “Mystery of the Gala Night!” Sandy sighs and rolls his eyes, and as he does so he catches sight of a folded letter sticking out from the stack of newspapers. He slips it out and sees that it is a high quality paper, sealed with black wax, and the impression in the seal seems to be in the shape of a lean man with some sort of wind or mist around him. 

The door bangs open, startling Sandy and causing him to drop the letter in one direction and the newspaper in the other. It is the newspaper that falls into his tea, and Sandy’s not sure if he should be relieved. It’s a shame to waste a good tea on a bad newspaper. 

“Is damnable!” North bellows waving his own newspaper in Sandy’s face. By crossing his eyes Sandy can see it’s the same one he just dropped into his tea, but opened to page 5 where it speculates wildly about the reduced take the Ballet Populaire can expect by firing the tried and true principal dancer Bunnymund. Sandy uncrosses his eyes and looks up at North, his ears ringing from the door and the bellow, but North painfully continues his shouts. “This is going to drive everyone away!” 

Sandy snorts and points his thumb out the window where the sun is now beginning to peek over the horizon. He himself rises and walks in the other direction, to make himself a new cup of tea. He’s definitely going to need more tea to put up with North this morning. 

North leans his strong arms on the windowsill and looks down at the street below. At ground level he sees a long line of people waiting for the ticket window to open. North’s mouth drops open, but as usual he isn’t speechless for long. “Would you look at that!” he proclaims in a tone of wonder. “Gossip’s worth its weight in gold.” He turns to Sandy, and before the more diminutive man can even raise his new cup of tea to his lips, North continues the argument with himself on the other’s behalf, waving his arms in the air for emphasis. “Sure they’re buying tickets, but if we don’t have any cast, we can’t perform. First Bunnymund, and now Frost! If we don't get at least one of them back, we won’t have any show tonight.” 

Sandy raises one eyebrow eloquently as he sips his tea, then cocks his head at North’s left hand. In it, a bit worse for the waving, is another letter, showing creases and a broken black seal. North stops his waving and looks at the letter, then looks back at Sandy, who sips his tea again while nodding his head down at the floor where his own letter lies. “Ah, I see you are getting one too. I’ve already read mine, you?” Sandy shakes his head, gently sets his second teacup atop the pile of unread broadsheets, and gestures for North to hand over his opened letter. 

North stalks over, and holds out his letter to Sandy. Sandy holds up his hand, asking him to wait for a moment as he scoops to retrieve his first. He breaks the strange seal and begins skimming it. …after party… Jack sublime… bereft Bunnymund left -- no wait, _not_ bereft… Before he can finish skimming, North snatches it out of his hands as expected, but having gotten the gist of it being a critique of the performers, Sandy can turn his attention to North’s letter. 

“Dear North, I am afraid I have not yet received my salary. Perhaps you have forgotten or the former owner did not remember to mention it? If you should be so kind as to place it in the mailbox, courtesy of the ghost, it will be sure to get to me. Do not disobey me. B.G.” Sandy chuckles at the differing content of the two: his letter is on the content of the performance while North’s is on what he calls the “tacks of brass.” 

North’s face falls as he reads Sandy’s letter, then snatches his own back from Sandy’s hands again. Looking up, he yells nearly in Sandy’s face, “Who would have the gall to send this!” He looks back down and between the two letters. “These are both signed ‘B.G.’ who could that-” and before Sandy can even open his mouth North answers his own question with “Ballet Ghost!” 

Sandy straightens up as things click in his head, and wishes he still held his teacup so he could set it down in outrage. “This is nothing but extortion,” North splutters while Sandy’s sallow face flushes with his own anger and he takes a breath to chip in. 

The door slams open again, and this time it is North who is startled enough to drop everything he’s holding, one letter falling to either side of him. Sandy hurriedly moves to pick them up while Jamie stalks across the large room with long purposeful strides. 

“Where is he?” Jamie demands. And winces at his own yell. Sandy’s lips twist wryly and he walks back to the tea service to get the Viscount his own cup, placing the two letters on a table on his way. Yeah, that much good Russian vodka would even give North a wicked hangover, and the large man had to have a hundred pounds on Jamie, maybe more. The tea would probably be bitter by now, but the strength would help Jamie’s headache, and a little milk would take the edge off the bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> …And despite my exposition at the end of “Ch 7: Phantom,” here I go writing a couple chapters not from either Jamie or Jack’s POV. I decided to split “Notes” into two chapters due to length (my goal is around 1,000 words per chapter, though I’ve had ones as short as 500 and ones in the 2,000s so far), and due to wanting to switch back to Jamie’s POV. 
> 
> Couldn’t help attempting to slip in a _Rent_ reference there (“That boy could use some Stoli!”), but unfortunately that specific brand of spirits didn’t exist at the time this is set. :-P English breakfast tea however, did exist. I guess this Sandy’s just really well traveled to like Russian vodka and English tea. Maybe that’s how he got his tan too, traveling. 
> 
> So yeah, in case you haven’t caught on yet, it’s a running gag here that this Sandy isn’t actually unable to speak nor took a vow of silence, he’s just taciturn and is continually trod over by North in his boisterousness, so that we never actually hear Sandy speak “on camera” in this work. 
> 
> The seal on the letters is the symbol used in the RotG end credits for Pitch / Jude Law. 
> 
> At the time of posting this, I'm working on Chapter 15, which will be Act I's finale, so 30 chapters total is looking to be on track. 
> 
> In the next chapter, we see more notes. Next up Chapter 11: Notes (Part 2).
> 
> Also, I'm currently writing "Masquerade". If anyone has requests on costumes for the characters, please let me know!


	11. Notes (Part II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the subscriptions folks! ☺ 
> 
> I'm working on writing Masquerade, and I could use suggestions on costumes, so let me know if you've got any.

Jamie throws the door to the owners’ office open with a bang. “Where is he?” Jamie demands, and winces at the pain that shoots through his temple at his own yell, trying not to stagger at the same time, and forces himself to cross the room. Oh, what _had_ that sly Sanderson managed to get him to drink last night? Sure he was distraught at Jack’s disappearance when he’d been about to take him to dinner after the show, but that was no reason for Sandy to go and… and... and get him drunk! Jamie had a vague recollection of enjoying the distraction at the time. Something about being dragged onto a table by a really strong woman in a pink tutu… Her name couldn’t have really been “Cupcake,” could it? 

Jamie very carefully manages to banish his recollection of the night without shaking his head, and Sandy presses a cup of black tea into his hands. The little man holds up a small pitcher of milk, but Jamie waves it off and asks for honey instead. Sandy scowls and points to the tea service, his gesture clear: if Jamie wants to adulterate his tea with such pollution, he can damned well get it himself. Jamie sighs and does so, adding enough honey that the tea nearly overflows the cup, and then taking a few deep swallows to bring the level back down. 

North folds his arms across his chest and answers the question he thinks Jamie asked. “Bunnymund still hasn’t deigned to check in with us, not since we replaced him last night.” 

Jamie waves the teacup in irritation, managing to spill only a little of it in the process, and presses his other hand to his pounding forehead. “I mean Mr. Frost, where is he? He never came back last night from wherever he went.” 

North snorted. “How in hells should we know what happened to him after your little lovers’ spat? You had plenty of time with him to convince him of whatever you wanted. You were the last one with him, if anyone should know what happened to him it’s you!” 

Heat floods to Jamie’s cheeks. In the short walk to this office from the bed he’d somehow found his way into for a couple hours’ sleep last night, Jamie had seen no less than three newspapers speculating about the change in principal dancers, and one even speculated that he – the Viscount de Bennett – had offed Bunnymund to place his paramour Jack Frost into the position! Jamie originally had no clue how such rumors could have sprouted so quickly, but now winces to think what else could be out there if North can’t hold his tongue any better than this. Then Jamie does shake his head to pull his attention back to the matter at hand – finding Jack - and then realizes he didn’t actually wince at the headshake. Jamie tilts his teacup in the direction of Sanderson to acknowledge the beneficial effects of the tea, downs the last of the honeyed concoction, and responds to North. 

“I want an answer from you, old man!” Jamie turns briefly away from North’s outraged face, which is beginning to rival the red of his suit jacket, to put down the now-empty teacup. Reaching into the inside breast pocket of the same gray jacket he was wearing the night before, Jamie pulls out a letter and shakes it in North’s face. “I take it that you sent me this note.” 

“What’s all this nonsense,” North finally manages to splutter out. “Of course not, don’t look at us!” He gestures at Sandy for support, while Sandy skeptically raises his eyebrows at North’s metaphorical attempts to hide behind him. 

“You’re not keeping him from me then?” Jamie accuses. 

“Of course not!” North affirms again and Jamie looks to Sandy, who just shrugs his shoulders and spreads his hands wide, as if to say he’s in the dark as well. 

Needing some target for his anger, Jamie turns and waves the letter in Sandy’s face this time. “Monsieurs, don’t argue. You wrote this letter.” 

“And what is it that we’re meant to have wrote?” North snatches the letter from Jamie’s hand while Sandy visibly winces at the bad grammar that North, as usual, has allowed to tumble out of his mouth without thinking. Well, this wasn’t his native tongue, Sandy would have to cut him a little slack. 

North’s accent retreats slightly as he reads aloud. “Do not fear for Mr. Frost, the Angel of Music has him under his wing. Make no attempt to see him again.” 

Snatching the letter back, Jamie huffs, “If you didn't write it then who did?”

The door bangs open. This time Bunnymund storms in with angry strides, clearly already in the midst of a temper tantrum, Sophie hard on his heels. North lets out a sigh of relief, opens his arms and begins “Welcome back--” but is cut off by Bunnymund’s abrupt “Where is he!” yelled out before he can even get a look at who is in the room. 

Behind him, Sophie chimes in with “Your precious patron, where is he?” 

Jamie shifts his stance slightly and rolls his eyes at the drama queen. Jamie had no idea if Bunnymund’s preferences in partners did run in the same vein as his and apparently Jack’s, or if he kept second ballerina Sophie around as more than just a beard, but he certainly was dramatic enough to fit the stereotypes. “What is it _now_?” Jamie inquires, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 

Waving a piece of paper so quickly that none of the other occupants of the room can tell anything about it, Bunnymund accuses “I have your letter, and I rather resent your implications, you show pony!” 

North turns to look astounded at Jamie, while Sandy simply raises one eyebrow at Jamie, a gesture as obvious as had he voiced the question, and Jamie answers as if he had, “Of course I didn’t send it.” 

North’s face quickly changes and he turns back to Bunnymund with “As if he’d send such a thing.” 

Outrage and disbelief fills Bunnymund’s face and the stronger man strides right up to Jamie. “You say you didn’t send it, mate?” Sophie, still a step behind him, nods her head for emphasis, blonde hair bobbing. 

Jamie throws his hands in the air. “Of course not! I said I didn’t send it.”

North throws his hands in the air as well and collapses into a chair. It barely holds his not inconsiderable weight, but Jamie is only peripherally aware of this as the larger Bunnymund looms over him. Bunnymund’s chest visibly puffs out as he leans threateningly towards Jamie, his nose a scant inch away. His breath is hot and heavy in Jamie’s face, and Jamie can smell his breakfast on his breath. Wait, is that… carrots? Bunnymund hisses, “Do you _dare_ tell me you didn’t send this letter?” 

Jamie leans forward himself. He might not be quite as tall or ripped as the other man, but he is angry at being accused of something, and he doesn’t even know what. Something in the look of his eyes must have been effective, for Bunnymund retreats just enough that their noses do not actually touch as Jamie leans forward. “What is it,” Jamie says in a deadly flat tone, “that you think I sent you?” Bunnymund wilts slightly and seems to shrink an inch, but holds up the letter. Jamie snatches it out of his hand, breaking eye contact to do so, and steps back a pace to read it. 

The letter is of the same fine parchment as the others, the black wax seal broken, the same bold hand. Jamie reads aloud for the benefit of the others in the room. “Your days at the Ballet Populaire are numbered. Jack Frost will be dancing on your behalf tonight. Be prepared for a great misfortune should you attempt to take his place."

Jamie is stunned. First Jack disappeared last night after telling him about some fantastical Angel of Ballet who supposedly was sent by his dead sister to tutor him in dance, then he woke in a strange bed with a horrible hangover from drowning his sorrow at Jack running away, only to find a note tucked under his pillow saying that the Angel was real and he was the cause of Jack’s disappearance, and now this very same supposed Angel is threatening Bunnymund to keep him off the stage, it couldn’t be true--

A loud creak from the chair North had been sitting in interrupts Jamie’s train of thought. Rising, North huffs and declares, “Far too many notes for my taste, and most of them about Jack.” Sandy nods and opens his mouth to chip in, when the door bangs open once again. 

Silhouetted in the doorway stands Madame Toothiana, her daughter Baby Tooth hovering behind her in the hallway. “Mister Frost has returned,” she declares. Everyone in the room leans towards Toothiana, waiting to hear more. Everyone except Sophie, who returns to her usual position of following behind the principal dancer Bunnymund, her eyes looking anywhere but at the woman in the doorway. 

North’s arms spread wide as his mouth spreads in a grin. “He is not wearing for the worst, I trust? Well, he has truly burned the midnight candle at both ends. Where is he now?” 

Madame Toothiana remains in the doorway, almost as if blocking it. “I thought it best he was alone,” and Baby Tooth adds right on her mother’s heels, “he needed rest.” 

Jamie rushes forward, his face full of eagerness, his voice filled with solicitude. “May I see him?” 

“No monsieur, he will see no one,” Toothiana replies with a small gesture warding him away.

“Will he dance?” Bunnymund interjects, partially scornful, and Sophie adds her voice as well on a second, “will he dance?” Her voice is mostly scornful. 

Madame Toothiana reaches into one of the pockets of her wide colorful skirt. “Here, I have a note.” 

At that everyone else in the room choruses out, “Let me see it.” Everyone else except Sandy that is, who groans and drops his head into his hands. North steps forward with an arm outstretched, and Toothiana hands the letter to him. He breaks the dark seal and begins to read aloud. 

“Gentlemen, I have now sent you several notes of the most amiable nature detailing how my Ballet is to be run.” As North speaks, the light in the room dims slightly as a shadow passes across the morning sun. “You have ignored my orders, but I shall give you one last chance.” A breeze ruffles the paper slightly, and Jamie tugs his coat sleeves down a little as he feels goose bumps on his arms. “Jack Frost has returned to you and I am anxious his career should progress.” North squints at the paper, as though straining in faint light. Jamie looks around the room while listening, and realizes the shadows in the corners of the room are darker than he would expect from a sunny day, and then notices how thick the clouds are which have drawn across the sky. The shiver he experiences has nothing to do with the clammy cold now filling the room, and everything to do with his memory of the shadow from the night before. That couldn’t have really happened, could it? Perhaps the alcohol was playing tricks with his memory. Had he really drunk so much? 

As North continues to speak, Jamie could swear he feels the shadows pulsing in time to his voice. “I understand that your production of _Il Muto_ is about to open. You will cast Bunny as the page boy.” Jamie looks up, expecting to see Bunnymund bristling at this nickname, but instead sees him clutching his own arms around himself and giving a little shiver, and rather than comforting him as usually expected, Sophie seems to have withdrawn into herself as well. The voice drones on, reading the letter, now seeming to come from multiple voices surrounding Jamie, and not just from North’s throat. “And you will put Mr. Frost in the role of the Count.” 

The voice is silken smooth now, almost hypnotizing. Jamie can feel himself wanting to agree with whatever it might say. “The role which Mr. Frost plays calls for charm and appeal.” Jamie nods in acceptance; this is definitely a role that Jack would do well in, while the more brash Bunnymund would not. “The page boy character has a leg injury, which makes my casting in a word, ideal.” The word echoes around the small room surrounding Jamie. Yes, it was best Bunnymund play the role that wouldn’t actually dance, or would do so only haltingly. 

“I shall watch the performance from my normal seat in Box 5 which will be kept empty for me. Should these commands be ignored, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur. I remain, gentlemen, your obedient servant, B.G.” The last ringing tones of the voice fade away, and North blinks a few times and then shakes himself, as though throwing off a trance. 

“Jack!” Bunnymund bellows before anyone else can say anything. 

North recovers his voice. “This is an outrage!”

Riding right over the owner’s protests in agreement, Bunnymund declares, “This is all a ploy to help Jack!” 

Sophie chips in with, “This is insane!” 

“I know who sent this,” Bunnymund says, and whirls to face Jamie. “The Viscount, his lover.” His voice drips venom as all eyes turn towards Jamie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d love to see more comments if anyone’s inclined. I know people like this b/c you’re subscribing, but I'm curious if you’re liking it for the reasons I think you are, and if I’m getting across the effect that I want to. Right now I’m looking for suggestions on costumes for Masquerade, so if you’ve got ideas, pile them on me! 
> 
> In the next chapter, more accusations fly, but managers Sandy and North convince lead dancer Bunnymund to return to the stage for their next performance. Next up, Chapter 12: “Prima Donna”.


	12. Prima Donna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More accusations fly, but managers Sandy and North convince lead dancer Bunnymund to return to the stage for their next performance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another vocabulary lesson for you, though this time not specifically about ballet. 
> 
> _jeu de paume_ was a precursor sport to tennis popular in France, played originally by hitting the ball back and forth between the players’ hands, then later evolving to using paddles, and then modern tennis rackets.  
>  _rort_ \- Aussie slang for being cheated or defrauded  
>  _ingénue_ \- while this word has been adopted into English meaning an innocent young girl in general, it also has a meaning in theater of a newer actress and simultaneously the characters she plays of a naïve young girl, often a damsel in distress, who is in some sort of danger while also being involved in a romantic plot. The use of this word is from the original Phantom lyrics, but I didn’t realize how apropos it was until I looked it up, so I thought I’d share my discovery.

“I know who sent this,” Bunnymund says, and whirls to face Jamie. “The Viscount, his lover.” His voice drips venom as all eyes turn towards Jamie. 

Jamie is shocked to see everyone staring at him as if they think it plausible that he would threaten the principal dancer like this, not to mention that they all seemed to believe the broadsheets’ claims of his relations with Jack. They only just became reacquainted last night! Not that Jamie was against such things happening, it’s just that they hadn’t. He looks around for a sympathetic face, and is heartened to see that Sanderson presents one. “Can you believe this,” Jamie protests. Sandy turns to Bunnymund, apparently to scold him for such an accusation, when Sophie steps forward to support Bunnymund and inadvertently blocks Sandy. 

“How could you do this?” Sophie chimes in. 

Seeing that she is taking over the scolding of Jamie, Bunnymund steps back and holds a wrist dramatically against his forehead. “I am unwanted!” he proclaims. 

Sandy looks between the two, Sophie and Bunnymund, and raises his eyebrows at their antics. North however is sympathetic to their accusations, saying aloud “it doesn’t matter who sent these letters, we change nothing.” 

Ignoring him, Bunnymund continues to bemoan, “I am unwelcome!” 

“Signor!” North interjects. “You are our star!” North gives a side eye to Sandy, who suddenly nods enthusiastically, finally getting the hint that if they want Bunnymund to return to the stage, they must play his game. “You always will be,” North continues to affirm. Sandy steps to Bunnymund’s other side, and raises a hand to take the man’s other wrist. “Whomever wrote these notes is mad, we don’t take orders.” North looks down to Sandy past Bunnymund, and Sandy nods in agreement. “Then it is settled.” North looks up at the room and proclaims: “Mister Frost will be playing the Pageboy, the idle role. Bunnymund will be playing the lead!” 

For a moment the room is silent, and watching Bunnymund, Jamie thinks that this may be enough to convince him, but then Sophie speaks up. “You don’t deserve him.” 

Bunnymund quickly composes his face into that of a martyr once more. “It’s useless trying to appease me!”

Responding to his cues, Sophie gestures to the owners, and stage whispers, “you should try to appease him!”

Bunnymund: “You don’t really care about my talent, you’re only saying this to please me!”

Sophie: “Why aren’t you trying to please him?”

The two continue for a number of minutes more, feeding off each others’ words like _jeu de paume_ players feed off each others’ hits of the ball. “I will not listen to these insults to my honor.” “Why do you insult his honor?” “You’ve rorted me!” “You have replaced him!” And so on. 

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, Jamie tunes out the two. Why did Jack fly from his arms? What really happened in Jack’s darkened room? Jamie’s thoughts are interrupted by the voices of the two managers - or actually, North’s booming voice, working to soothe the principal dancer. Jamie looks up at the pathetic group, Bunnymund obviously posturing for the attention and the other three acting as though they believed his protestations of injury. With a snort, Jamie walks away from the group towards the door, but before he reaches it he is reminded of Madame Toothiana blocking the exit by her mutters to Baby Tooth. 

“They’re scorning his word, they need to be careful,” Toothiana is saying to her daughter. Baby Tooth looks nervous and jitters her leg. Behind him, Jamie hears North saying something about beseeching Bunnymund to perform for them. 

Baby Tooth croons Jack’s name softly, and Madame Toothiana continues, half to herself, “If they do this, the Angel will realize their darkest fears…” 

Dark fears. There can’t have been an actual shadow that reached up and claimed Jack. Where could he have really gone? 

From the center of the room Jamie hears Bunnymund bellowing something about parrots, degenerating into more and more incoherent slang as he works himself up. Sophie’s shrill voice chips in about their unfeeling nature. In front of him the dance instructor mutters about the Angel, while from the other direction North pleads with Bunnymund not to martyr himself. Jamie doesn’t realize he is speaking, until he hears Baby Tooth echoing his words, and they lock eyes as they both finish saying “I must see him.” Together they turn to look at Madame Toothiana, whom Jamie is beginning to suspect knows more than she lets on. “Madame,” he asks, “what new surprises lie in store?” 

Before either she can answer, or Jamie can press her further, silence falls from the group behind him and Bunnymund’s voice rings out to fill that emptiness, filled with bitter anger. “Wouldn’t you rather have your precious little ingénue?” 

Jamie turns to see a shocked look on North’s face, one that has all appearances of being genuine. “Signor, no, the world wants you!” Jamie rolls his eyes as a stream of praise flows from North’s mouth, Sandy nodding along eagerly and gesturing to add emphasis to North’s words. 

Turning once again to Madame Toothiana, Jamie presses again. “Jack spoke of an Angel…” he trails off, leaving it as much a question as a statement. 

Hesitantly, Toothiana replies, “He has seen the dance of the Guardian of Ballet.” Her eyes dart around the room, and Jamie realizes she is focusing on the corners where the midmorning sunlight from the window does not reach. 

Bunnymund seems to be singing his own praises on the other side of the room, but Jamie ignores him as Baby Tooth reenters the conversation. “He talked of this Angel to me as well, but from what Jack said, I couldn’t tell if this ghost was really an angel or a madman.” Jamie shivers at that last word. An angel or madman, indeed. Baby continues, “Jack said he was sent by her sister, but sent from the shadows of hell or from the light of the Moon?” 

Madame Toothiana shakes her head, glancing back at the rapturous group in the center of the room, and Jamie looks too. “MiM help them, this miscasting invites damnation,” she whispers, and at that comment Jamie’s head whips back to her again. 

“You say ‘MiM help them’? So he is a threat then? Ordering people around, giving these warnings and these lunatic demands,” Jamie takes a breath and changes tack. “Surely for Jack’s sake, we must see that these demands are rejected!” They couldn’t just give in to a madman’s whims. Especially not if that madman were a threat to Jack in some way. Jamie glances back at the other group again to track their progress convincing Bunnymund. 

As Jamie watches, North leans over to Sophie and whispers to her. Unfortunately a whisper from North is a loud rumble from anyone else, and Jamie hears every word. “Shocked I am to see our star happy to take over for a _corps de ballet_ , not to mention one who’d slept with the patron. Good thing we’re in ballet, we could never make a play of this but without words it’s art!” 

Blushing furiously, Jamie decides to pretend he didn’t hear North’s slanderous words and loudly says the first thing that comes to mind: “Jack must be protected!” Wincing internally but managing to keep it from his face, Jamie goes on, “This Phantom’s game is over!” 

“Game?!” Toothiana scoffs, turning back to Jamie. “This is no game, and even if it were, you could not hope to win it.” 

“Yes, a game,” Jamie counters. “And if he wants Box 5, that’s where this game will begin.” 

Baby Tooth watches the two of them trade words uncomfortably, and finally murmurs, “But if his curse is on the ballet, I fear the results.” 

Jamie turns from the two of them and strides over to North. Putting a firm hand on the stout man’s shoulder, Jamie gives a small push and North turns so they face each other. “Jack plays the pageboy,” Jamie begins, and together he and North both finish firmly, “Bunnymund plays the Count.” 

A large grin splits Bunnymund’s face, finally accepting his triumph now that the patron himself agrees, and he calls out “I shall dance once more,” when the light in the room suddenly dims. A voice echoes around them all, and when each person turns to try and find the source, all they can see are shadows filling the corners of the room. 

“So, it is to be war between us,” the voice intones, emanating from the darkness swirling just beyond the edges of Jamie’s vision. “If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!” 

Ignoring the voice, or perhaps in an attempt to drown it out, Jamie looks between North and Bunnymund, and as one the three of them repeat, “Once more!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness this chapter was brutal for me to get through. There’s so much that happens in the dialogue, and at first I felt that I had to include it all. The breakthrough finally came when I reminded myself this is all from Jamie’s POV, and he wouldn’t’ve been able to follow every last word of all the other characters himself (just like the viewer/listener of the original PotO can’t follow the entire thing). 
> 
> I know the last few updates were pretty quick. It's to make up for that I’m going to be traveling for a couple weeks on business then pleasure, so I probably won’t be updating again until a couple days after I back, or at least June 20 (2013). Sorry in advance! I currently have Ch 16 written and am partway through Ch 17, so there’s a non-zero chance I will manage to put one up while traveling, but I don’t guarantee it. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Bunnymund and Jack play the “Il Muto” roles decided upon by the managers, to the wroth of the Phantom. Next up, Chapter 13: “Poor Fool, He Makes me Laugh”.


	13. Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunnymund and Jack play the “Il Muto” roles decided upon by the managers, to the wroth of the Phantom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having an awesome time on my vacation, and finally got some down time with free wifi to post, so since I'm ahead, here have a treat! Well, maybe "treat" isn't the right word... You folks have read all the warning tags right? You’re gonna hate me…

Jamie, Viscount de Bennett, deliberately arrives at the Ballet Populaire fashionably late, so he will not have to schmooze with any of the lesser patrons and can instead focus on his little scheme. Instead of his gray suit for the previous night’s opening performance of _Hannibal_ , tonight he wears a black tuxedo, complete with tails, bowtie, and top hat, and the ornamental rosewood cane that he carries has scrollwork carved into the head suggesting a shepherd’s crook. He steps onto the floor of the theater, removes his hat and holds it under his left arm, and tips back his head to examine the status of the boxes. Box 3, which he had shared with owners Sanderson Mansnoozie and Nicholas St. North with room to spare at the previous show is now occupied to capacity, with barely enough space remaining for Sandy, let alone North, and certainly not for Jamie himself. The floor seats appear full as well, and Jamie is unable to find a single empty seat anywhere below the mezzanine. Apparently the reviews of Jack Frost’s performance last night have sold out the house. Good, good, all was according to plan. 

“Viscount!” a loud boisterous voice calls to Jamie, and he turns to see North and Sandy waving at him as they approach the stairs to their box. “Not sure we have space for you in Box 3, do you have another seat?” 

“Gentlemen,” Jamie nods at the owners and sweeps his eyes around the balconies. As expected, there is one box that remains empty: Box 5, the Phantom’s box, in the center, with the best view. Yes. The gas lights dim slightly, a signal that the show is about to begin. Returning his eyes to the other men, Jamie continues, “Go ahead and take your seats. I shall be sitting in Box 5.” 

Sandy gasps, his eyebrows shoot up, and as Jamie turns to him in surprise the small man clasps his hands to his mouth as if to stifle any further sound. North simply rumbles, his apprehensive voice coming from deep in his belly, “Do you really think that's wise, monsieur?”

Jamie chuckles deliberately in response. “My dear North, there would appear to be no seats available other than Box 5.” He dips his head in a slight bow, first to North and then to Sandy, and then heads for the back staircase. As he does so, the gas lights dim and brighten once again, and he hurries up the stairs into the empty box in the middle of the balcony. Just as he seats himself in the single chair, placing his top hat under his seat, the gas lights go out the rest of the way in the audience. 

The curtains rise on the stage, and a number of dancers in fanciful courtly costumes walk out onto the stage. They mime whispering to each other, cupping hands around their mouths and pointing to stage left where Sophie Bennett stands dressed elaborately, obviously some noble in her tiara and shiny pink dress with a bell skirt reaching down to the floor. The assorted dancers move about upstage, while Sophie begins a short solo. Her motions take her around a second dancer near her, a _pas de bourree_ accompanied by expansive arm gestures between herself and stage right, where E. Aster Bunnymund and Jack Frost now enter, Bunnymund via leaps, Jack affecting a limp. As they do so, Sophie pauses in her pantomime, and joins them on center stage. 

Jamie’s eyes are riveted to Jack. While Bunnymund wears a vivid violet jacket with frills blossoming from his chest and a crown on his head to match that of Sophie, Jack wears a simple white peasant blouse with dark brown vest, lighter brown leggings tight against his trim calves, a short cloak in two layers over his shoulders, and a matching brown wig. Jamie finds Jack entrancing in anything, but somehow the simplicity of this outfit emphasizes the honest appearance of Jack’s face. As Jack limps over to a couch behind the two nobles, Sophie crosses the stage to Bunnymund and they pantomime exaggerated fake hugs, but during it Sophie turns her head away from Bunnymund to leer at Jack. Bunnymund pulls away from the fake embrace and with a few _petite jetes_ he returns to the couch where Jack is now sitting. Sophie crosses the stage back to where she had entered, and obviously hides behind a large potted plant to watch. 

Jack begins to rise as Bunnymund approaches, but he waves the play-cripple back down again, and continues his _jetes_ , now circling the couch. As he does so, suddenly a voice echoes loudly throughout the theater, ringing from the rafters above, drowning out the gentle music. “Did I not instruct that Box 5 was to be kept empty?” The voice is resonant with threat, and Jamie frantically searches the other boxes, the theater floor, the wings, even his own box - the aforementioned Box 5 - for any sign of the source of the voice. He whips his head back to the stage as motion catches his eye, and he sees Jack jump up and stride elegantly downstage. 

“It’s him,” Jack’s whisper carries throughout the now silent theater. He walks purposefully towards one side of the stage, searching the darkness in the wings. Even when not dancing but just moving, his steps are elegant, conserving energy but at the same time flowing with a vibrancy that others would have to spend excessive energy to achieve. Jack looks into the shadows, and apparently unaware that he speaks, says, “I know it, it’s _him_.” 

Bunnymund takes a few purposeful steps forward, almost stomping, towards Jack and grabs his arm, hard. Jamie can see how tightly Bunnymund’s fingers are clenching Jack’s arm, though he cannot tell whether it is out of fear or anger. “Your part’s immobile, little gimp!” he spits out, spite dripping from his voice. 

A dark chuckle sounds. “A gimp, monsieur?” Every head in the theater cranes from side to side, trying to find the source of the voice by sight. Jamie closes his eyes instead, listening. “Perhaps it is you who are the gimp!” But to no avail, the voice resonates from all the darkest parts of the large space, and with the lights dimmed for the performance there are many dark places. No wait, not all the lights are dimmed. The chandelier lights are oscillating between light and dark, in no discernable pattern. 

After a long pause Bunnymund finally seems to shake himself and turns to the conductor. “Maestro, four measures back please.” As the music resumes, Bunnymund shoves Jack back towards the couch, and begins to prance around him again. Halfway around the couch though, he stumbles, but picks himself up again quickly. Hesitantly he takes two more steps, then makes a _grand jete_ as he approaches the front of the couch once more, but as he lands something goes wrong and he falls hard, clearly rolling his left ankle inwards as he comes down on it. Bunnymund screams loudly in pain and grabs at his ankle, the entire cast and audience gasping with his yell. Another chuckle begins to roll through the rafters, rich as velvet, sharp as steel. 

“Behold!” the voice calls again. “His dancing will bring down the chandelier!” Again the lights in the chandelier flicker, and Jamie can make out a faint tinkle from the glass crystals hanging from it. Sophie blanches as the conflicting sounds - the laugher, Bunnymund’s cries of pain, and the tinkling of the crystals - roll over the theater, and she runs from the stage. 

As stage hands come out to see to Bunnymund, North’s voice bellows out from Box 3. “Ladies and gentlemen, the performance will continue in ten minutes time, when the role of the Count will be danced by Mister Jack Frost.” As he proclaims this, Jamie sees Sandy catch Jack’s eye and wave him towards the wings to get ready for the sudden change in role, and Jack dashes off after Sophie. North continues. “In the meantime, ladies and gentlemen, we shall be giving you the ballet from Act, uh,” North hurriedly flips open his program. “The ballet from Act Three of tonight's performance.” North looks down at the conductor as some of the dancers begin to scramble off the stage, carrying the props with them. “Maestro, the ballet, NOW!” 

A bunch of ballerinas stream onto the stage, not all of them wearing the same costumes. Bunnymund is carried off in the opposite direction of where Sophie then Jack left the stage. The dancers are somewhat uncoordinated, nearly bumping into each other at first, but then managing to arrange themselves into neat lines, shepherdesses holding garlands of flowers, which they use to pay homage to the single shepherd in the middle of the stage, leaping about holding his crook over his head with both hands. 

Jamie lets his eyes wander from the performance below him, wondering how Jack will manage to take over the role, which he has not rehearsed, on zero notice whatsoever. From his position high in the central box, he can see above some of the curtains to the walkways from which they are raised and lowered, and motion on one of them catches Jamie’s eye. His cousin, Sophie Bennett, has walked out a few steps onto the catwalk, where she stops to lean her elbows on the railing. As the dancers continue their routine below, Jamie watches Sophie lower her head into her waiting hands, and begin to shake. He realizes that she is crying, probably in fear and worry for Bunnymund. An ankle injury is no light matter, and at best it will take him a few days to recover enough to dance, while at worst his skill could be impacted permanently, especially if he had managed to break a bone. Jamie feels like a voyeur watching her grief, so turns his eyes back down to the dancers. 

The women are now in concentric circles around the man, spinning faster and faster as the music crescendos, raising and lowering their garlands in time with their motions. Jamie hears a metallic clank and a muted gurgling and looks up to the catwalk just as he hears Baby Tooth’s distinctive scream from the stage floor. There is something dangling and swinging from the walkway underneath where Sophie had been standing, and at first Jamie takes it for a counterweight. But the limp mass is too large for a sandbag, too elongated, and as it swings from its fall Jamie realizes there are limbs and a yellow mop of hair hanging over the head. 

Jamie is out of Box 5 and running down the stairs, taking them three at a time, before he even consciously processes whose body must hanging from the walkway. As he runs along the side of the crowd, only just beginning to surge out of their seats, and dashes towards the stage, Jamie’s mind detachedly processes what must have happened. Sophie was sitting on the catwalk, crying, and either she deliberately threw herself off in her grief over her partner’s injury, or else she slipped in her shaking and fell. She must have become caught in the rope on her way down. It can’t have been someone else who did it, there is no Phantom of the Ballet. It didn’t matter what little ploy Jamie thought he was engaging in with taking Box 5. Madame Toothiana had warned him about playing games, maybe she was… No! Besides, it doesn’t matter the cause, Jamie just has to get to Jack, get him safe. 

Voices and sounds blend in his ears as the faces before him blur. Someone is yelling about it being an accident. People are surging out of their seats towards the exits and someone yells that they shouldn’t leave, that the show will go on. Jamie just runs for the stage where he sees Jack standing on the edge, now in an elaborate costume similar to that which Bunnymund had been wearing a minute ago: white leggings, lavender jacket with a frill at the collar. Jamie’s vision tunnels in on Jack. Everything else fades to black in his sight, and he hears Jack calling him, “Jamie, Jamie!” 

Reaching the stage, Jamie vaults up onto it, grabs Jack’s shoulders, and begins pulling him towards backstage, thinking they could go to the dressing rooms. “Jack, come with me,” he urges as he feels the smaller man resist. 

“No,” Jack insists, “this way, we must go up to the roof. We’ll be safe there, in the light of the Moon!” Jamie lets Jack guide him, and they leave the chaos behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Jamie dear, Sophie wasn’t crying in fear for Bunnymund’s ankle. She was crying because she knew what was going to happen next. She knew Madame Toothiana was right in her warning. If I do write a companion piece with snippets from the Phantom’s POV, I’ll have to include some from Sophie’s as well. 
> 
> I’d been debating with myself, probably since Chapter 6, “The Mirror”, whether to kill off Sophie, and if so when. I mean Piangi dies, right?, I couldn’t really let his counterpart survive. And then I realized that Chapter 9, “Magical Lasso”, had to take place, and that I didn’t have any other RotG characters who I wanted to stand in for Joseph Buquet, and that made the outcome of this chapter inevitable. Hope my attempts to misdirect on Ch 9 weren’t too obvious. On the plus side, I guess this doesn’t count as an instance of the women in refrigerators trope, because it’s not like Bunny’s going to grow or learn anything from it. I’m not usually this down on Bunny, but this work is really bringing out his worst attributes – believe it or not Blackice and Jackrabbit vie for my OTP, and I’m not really a fan of Bennefrost, which is one of my challenges in writing this piece, but the RotG character personalities really screamed out for this casting to me. 
> 
> So yeah, I hope you don’t all hate me, or if you do, at least it’s in a good way. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack takes Jamie to the roof of the theater, where he tells Jamie more of what’s been going on. But will Jamie believe in Jack? Next up, Chapter 14: “Why Have You Brought Us Here? / Raoul, I've Been There”.


	14. Why Have You Brought Us Here? / Jamie, I've Been There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes Jamie to the roof of the theater, where he tells Jamie more of what’s been going on. But will Jamie believe in Jack?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope people got the chance to read the chapter I posted while traveling. Make sure you do so if you haven't! :)

“Why have you brought me here?” Jamie demands as they step out onto the roof. The light of the Full Moon is cold and crisp above them, but doing little to ease the worry in Jamie’s heart. 

Jack, running across the roof away from the stairs, stops and turns. “Don’t take me back there!” 

Jamie throws his hands in the air, then reaches them towards Jack. “You heard what they said, the show will go on. We must return.” Jamie steps forward slowly, as though faced with a frightened deer. As he approaches arm’s length though, Jack dodges and steps back again. His face is a mask of fear. 

“He’ll kill me, just like Sophie! His eyes will find me there…”

“Jack, don’t say that! Don’t even _think_ that!” Jamie protests. 

“His yellow eyes that hurt… If he has to kill a thousand to have me back, you know he will!” 

Jamie takes another cautious step closer, holding his open hands far apart and low to show he is no threat. Jack appears to be hyperventilating. Sure, Jamie is worried about what just happened, about that strange voice, but poor Jack needs to calm down. “Forget this waking nightmare,” Jamie soothes. 

Jack’s eyes are wide, the whites showing around his blue irises on all sides, the black pupils dilated with fear in the dim light of the Moon. He shakes his head at Jamie’s words. “The Phantom of the Ballet will kill and kill again!”

Jamie finally steps forwards and puts one hand on each of Jack’s upper arms. He catches Jack’s eyes with his warm brown ones. “This Phantom is a fable! Believe me, there is no Phantom of the Ballet!” Dear MiM, Jamie thinks, who is this man? There was some voice in the theater, that much was certain, but every fiber of Jamie’s being denies the possibility that he was more than a mortal man. The blinking lights of the chandelier, that could be done with parlor tricks. But the voices from the dark corners? And the shadows he saw rise up in Jack’s room? 

As Jamie draws his attention back to Jack’s eyes, he realizes the smaller man is staring through him. “Oh MiM,” Jack murmurs, “who is this man who hunts to kill?” Jamie grips his arms tighter, trying to draw Jack’s thoughts back to the present, to him, but to no avail. “I’ve tried so hard, I can’t escape from him,” Jack continues in a breathy voice, “from that labyrinth, where the night is so dark… The Guardian of the Ballet is here, inside my mind!” 

“He _is_ ,” Jamie agrees fervently. “He is inside your mind. There is no Guardian of the Ballet!” 

At these words from Jamie, Jack’s eyes finally focus on him and go wide at his skepticism. “Jamie, I’ve been there, how can you not believe me?” Jack’s voice is rich with his many complex emotions, fear-shadowed with hurt predominant. “I’ve been to his world of unending night. There’s no daylight, no moonlight, just darkness… darkness.” Jack breaks the eye contact with Jamie, takes a shaky breath, and raises his right hand to run it through his frazzled hair. Another breath, and he returns his gaze to Jamie, then hesitantly brings his hands to clasp around the other’s waist. Another time and Jamie would have become rock hard at even so slight a touch, yes even through the many layers of his dress coat and shirt. Now though, Jamie simply watches Jack with concern as he softly continues. “Jamie, I’ve seen him. I don’t think I can ever forget that sight. His entire body is covered with shadows; I could hardly see his face in that darkness. That darkness…” 

Jack’s voice trails off again, and Jamie watches with concern as a flush begins to creep up Jack’s cheeks and he feels Jack shift his hips against him in their embrace. For a moment only, the entire length of their bodies are pressed against each other, and in that moment Jamie can feel Jack’s shaft hard against him, then Jack’s hands leave his waist and he takes a step back, out of Jamie’s grip, loosened by surprise. 

Jack slowly angles his body away from Jamie, but his eyes have become distant long before he turns his face up to the Moon. Jack continues his story as though no time has passed since mentioning the darkness, but his entire demeanor has changed from one of fear to one of… is that longing? 

“But his body filled my spirit with a strange, sweet sound,” Jack whispers rapturously. “In that night, there was music all around. And with music, my soul began to soar… And I danced as I've never danced before!” 

Frightened of the transformation he is hearing and seeing before him, Jamie takes a hesitant step forward and reaches his hand out to Jack, but draws his hand back before actually touching him. “It was just a dream, a nightmare, nothing more,” Jamie practically pleads with Jack to agree. 

Whether he hears the pleas in Jamie’s voice, or whether Jack just wishes to convince Jamie of his sincerity, he turns around and makes eye contact once more. Tears well in Jamie’s dark eyes; he feels the tenuous connection between them slipping away. Jack’s are still a clear blue. “Yet in his golden eyes,” Jack voices softly, “I could see all the loneliness of the world.” Jack seems to be begging Jamie as well, to understand what it is that Jack sees in his dark Angel. “Those glowing eyes that both threatened… and adored…”

Jamie feels like his heart is breaking for Jack’s pain and confusion, and breaking for the fact that Jack seems to feel some strange attraction to… whomever it is that he describes. He finally reaches forward and folds Jack into his arms. He seems so fragile, as though a slight breeze or a single harsh word could shatter him like an icicle. Jamie cradles one hand to the back of Jack’s neck, the other wrapped protectively around his shoulders. “Oh Jack,” he breathes into his hair, glowing silver in the moonlight. “Jack…” he whispers a second time. 

“Jack…” but this time it comes distantly on the breeze to Jamie’s ears, and he does not move his lips against Jack’s hair. 

Jack stiffens in Jamie’s arms, shoulders coming up around his ears even as his hands rise to press against Jamie’s chest. “What was that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I needed a follow-up chapter after the last one. Also, I'm excited to get chapters 15 and 16 up, so putting this up gets me a step closer to them. :) 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jamie and Jack finally proclaim their feelings for each other. Next up, Chapter 15: “All I Ask of You / Act I Finale”.


	15. All I Ask of You / Act I Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and Jack finally proclaim their feelings for each other, and the Phantom takes his vengeance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I’m so excited for this chapter! I hope y’all are too. ☺ Sorry it's been a week since the last one, having a bit of writer's block on Chapter 19 and didn't want to use up too much of my buffer.

Jamie’s arms around him feel so warm, such a comforting contrast to the chill in his heart remembering his trip down into the Guardian’s lair the night before. When one hand comes up to cradle the back of his neck and Jamie presses his lips into Jack’s hair, Jack finally begins to let go of his fear. His own arms hesitantly come up around Jamie’s back as the taller man softly croons Jack’s name into his hair, once, twice, and the third time his name is whispered on the wind. Jack stiffens and begins to pull away, nervously asking, “What was that?” He feels tension flow through his body again, and phantom pain tingles in his toes and derrière, recalling him to the night before. 

The arms around him never slacken their hold however, and Jamie patiently waits for Jack’s breathing to slow again. Once it does, the back of a warm hand rises to brush against Jack’s cheek, fingers gently trailing down to his chin. Jamie’s voice is throaty when he speaks. 

“Hush, speak no more of darkness. I will free you from your fears. Look, the bright Moon is above us, let His light dry your tears.” As he speaks, Jamie holds him tight, and Jack can feel their bodies pressed against each other. “I’m here,” Jamie’s warm breath whispers straight into Jack’s ear. He shivers with the sensation as Jamie continues. “I’m with you. I’m beside you,” and with that Jamie pulls Jack even tighter, and Jack can feel him pressed against his thigh. “I’ll guard you and guide you.” A hand runs up Jack’s thigh from his knee to his hip. 

Jack gasps as he feels his own reaction stirring, and he tips his face up to look into Jamie’s rich brown eyes. They are so deep, Jack feels as though he could fall into them and drown, all his fears submerged in their warmth. But he does not actually fall in all the way; one fear at least remains at the top of his mind. From the moment Jack first recalled Jamie, the feeling has been building within him, that this man could be the one to provide him the safety and stability for which he longs. That this man could be trusted with his heart, with his life, and even with his soul. But despite the message Jamie carried in his flowers, Jack does not know if Jamie truly feels the same, or if he views Jack as nothing more than a brief diversion. 

Too afraid to ask what Jamie feels, Jack is torn on what to do or say next, until the words finally burst from him unbidden. “Say you love me every waking moment,” he pleads. He goes on, not willing to wait for Jamie’s response, his fear almost palpable. “Say you need me with you now and always.” Does Jamie believe in him the way that Jack believes in Jamie? He’s making a mess of things like he always does, Jack just knows it. “Promise me that all you say is true…” Jack finally trails off, fearing that even if Jamie does respond, it will all be a lie. Jack turns his head away in his shame, and then pulls gently away from Jamie. 

Jamie lets him go, but then as Jack turns his back he hears from behind him, softly and intensely, “Let me be your shelter, let _me_ be your light. You’re safe here, your fears are far behind you.” As he listens, a smile slowly spreads over Jack’s face, but then at mention of his fears, it slips away again. Rubbing his hands over his lavender-clad arms, Jack chuckles wryly. 

“Heh. My fears. All I want is freedom from my fears. I want a world with no more night…” He ducks his head at his next thought, and decides to let it out. “All I want is you beside me.” 

Jack hears footsteps come around the front of him, and feels his upper arms gripped in gentle hands, but he keeps his face turned down, afraid of seeing pity in those eyes that should hold nothing but hope and wonder in their depths. The hands travel down his sleeves to his own hands, their warmth grasping his coolness. As the fingers press tightly into his own, the other man kneels before him, Jamie’s head lowering until his eyes are within Jack’s field of view. And Jack is lost in them once again. 

Jack blinks a couple times when he realizes he missed what Jamie just said. He scans back a moment, and his blue eyes brighten as he realizes Jamie was saying that he needed Jack beside him as well. 

“If you will have me,” Jamie continues, “I want to share my love with you, my lifetime. I want to spend each day with you, here at the Ballet if that’s what you want, or at my estate. I want to go to bed with you each night, and wake up next to you each morning. Wherever you go, let me go too.” 

Jack’s breath catches in his throat at these words. They sound very like a wedding vow, which he knows he will never have. “Oh Jamie, I do want you here beside me. Just say you love--” Jack begins, and before he can complete the sentence, Jamie finishes “You know I do.” Again, those words. 

Finally Jack cannot restrain himself any longer, and he leans forward and down to press his lips against Jamie’s as he wraps his arms around the kneeling man’s shoulders. Even that is not enough though, and Jack leans against him as he opens his mouth hungrily and presses his tongue into the waiting mouth. Hot and wet, that is all Jack can think as the blood rushes from his head downwards and he grinds himself against Jamie’s thigh. Jamie holds him tight as he leans back onto the rooftop. He raises one arm from Jack’s hip and towards his backside. 

The hand tracing around his leg to his derrière snaps Jack out of his sexual fugue, and he jumps up from the ground, leaving Jamie dazed beneath him. Adjusting his frilly cravat, Jack quickly stammers out, “I must go, the show must go on after all - they’ll be wondering where I am.” Jamie watches, confused by the sudden change in Jack’s demeanor. Taking pity on him, Jack leans forward and takes his hands to help him up. As he rises to a standing position, Jack kisses him long and deep, and grinds his hardness against Jamie’s thigh again as a promise. “Wait for me, Jamie,” and he releases him, steps back a few paces, and turns to go. 

Jack hears Jamie release a breath behind him and then call, “Jack! I love you.” Jack cannot help but turn at that, a delighted grin on his face. “Remember you said you’d take me to dinner? Well, order up those horses, and wait for me at the door after the performance.” Jack decisively turns again, knowing that if he doesn’t, he might just launch himself at Jamie again and take him back down to the ground to finish what they’d started, everything else be damned. 

Adjusting his pants, Jack hurries from the roof, Jamie following not far behind. Jack pretends he doesn’t hear the plaintive calls of his name carrying on the wind as he leaves the roof for the staircase.

* * *

Jack manages to will his heartbeats back down to a reasonable rate, not to mention willing his erection down to a concealable level, before encountering anyone, and the rest of the show goes amazingly well, as expected. Jack hadn’t formally rehearsed the part of the Count previously, but he always watched the rehearsals and practiced all the parts on his own. Baby Tooth serves as his pageboy, a shame really as the role does not show off her talents, and in Jack’s opinion the audience gives her nearly as much applause as she deserves. He gets a standing ovation again. It feels so good to have so many people believe in him, in his skill as a dancer, and a rakish grin plasters itself over his face as he bows for a third time. 

As he rises from his third deep bow, a maniacal voice roars throughout the theater, louder than even the applause. Jack is unable to make out the words, but the meaning behind them is clear as the crystal chandelier above the audience suddenly plummets to the ground. Jack is frozen in place and it is fortunate that the chandelier was not above the stage, as moving from its path would not have even occurred to him. As the glass shards splinter on impact, everything around Jack goes dark, and he can barely feel it as he hits the ground in a swoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It always amused me how in the PotO universe, they see the chandelier smashing as a bigger tragedy than Buquet's death, and that's why the chandelier is the finale of Act I. If I'd put more thought into it, I might've been able to find a way to rearrange that, but I didn't end up doing so, oh well. Maybe if I ever rewrite this entire work. ;) So there’s actually a reason I switched this back to Jack’s POV, other than just variety. If anyone catches it / figures it out, you get a virtual cookie. :) It’s probably not as subtle as I think it is though. :-P 
> 
> And here ends Act I! If someone had told me when I first started writing this, that I’d still be doing it 2 months later and I’d have more than 20,000 words and only be half done, I definitely would’ve thought them crazy. Since Act I did end up being 15 chapters, I’d say my estimate of 30 chapters total is spot on. We’ll see as we get closer though; so many of the musical numbers in the second half of that last act (the climax and denouement) run together, that I may end up splitting things differently from how the tracks are listed. 
> 
> Act II starts with the next chapter – and I’ve been wondering if I should actually put it into a separate work in the same series, what do people think? In the next chapter, time passes and we see a bit more of Jamie and Jack’s relationship. Rating: Explicit! Next up, Chapter 16: “Entr’acte”.


	16. Entr’acte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes and we see a bit more of Jamie and Jack’s relationship. 
> 
> Rating: Explicit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point I’m pretty certain of all the final tags/warnings that will be in this work, so I have updated them above. The additional tags may apply to either this chapter or a future one, so they’re not a complete spoiler. Please take another glance through the tags/ratings for triggers. 
> 
> _Dance belt_ – underwear for male ballet dancers. Consists of a thong in the back, a wide belt around the waist to prevent panty lines, and a triangle of fabric in the front designed to hold the genitals up and out of the way of the legs while shaping them into “an ideal bulge”. More details at [Doctor Dancebelt’s Guide](http://www.dancebelt.info/17165091C1D94631B10E/the-complete-guide-to-dance/). It’s not clear to me when dance belts were invented, so their use here could be anachronous. Other than the dance belt, it seems that at this time period men’s underwear was in the process of transitioning from non-existent to mass-produced cotton boxer-briefs.

It has been a long week for Jack, Jamie knows, what with rehearsals on the new production in which he was starring, as well as rehearsals for the existing production starring Bunnymund. Finally the opening performance is completed, and Jamie attends the gala afterwards with Jack on his arm. Bunnymund makes himself scarce at these sorts of things - unless of course the party is celebrating his own performance. Some say that he’s still grieving for his lost partner, Sophie Bennett. Some say he’s just jealous that he’s no longer the sole principal dancer and refuses to stand in Jack’s shadow. Still others say he fears the wrath of the Guardian if he makes himself too visible, but those people are quickly hushed up as the cast and crew have decided that to speak of the ghost is to summon him, and that if they don’t speak of him he would stay away. So far it seems to be working. Five and a half months since the disaster with the chandelier and the soloist’s accidental death, and they still haven’t seen hide nor hair of the Phantom. 

The party is a good one in Jamie’s estimation. Parties without Bunnymund’s histrionics or sulking are always better. The highlight though is that Sandy got ahold of a large stash of imported tequila, and is doling it out liberally to the denizens of the Ballet Populaire. That man really knows his drinks, the more exotic the better, though with amicable relations restored between France and Mexico in recent years, it is no harder to obtain these spirits than say, tea from China. 

Jamie doesn’t particularly like the taste of the tequila, he feels it is better suited to stripping floors of their lacquer, but when Jack determinedly says he is going to get tipsy and relax, Jamie decides to join him for the fun. Nine drinks later, Jamie is standing atop a table, his shirt ripped open, while Jack licks up his chest to his nipples. Dark arms wrap around him from behind, the hands running up his own arms where the sleeves have been rolled back to his elbows. Jamie’s hands are clenched in Jack’s white hair, pushing him downwards slowly, and for a moment he thinks he’s looking in a mirror when he sees identical dark hands twine in his own on Jack’s head. Jamie looks at the black man’s face before him and sees wide thick eyebrows and unruly hair that tangles together attractively. He turns his head around behind him, the room spinning as he does so, but he is able to catch a glimpse of a matching face wearing an orange wig cap, presumably left over from the performance earlier. 

Unbalanced a little from his motion, Jamie leans slightly on Jack’s shoulders. Or maybe it’s more than slightly, as Jack promptly falls over atop the table and starts laughing. Jamie doesn’t know what’s so funny, but he’s laughing too, so hard that his balance is off, and he sits down heavily on the table next to Jack. Oh, he’s laughing so hard that his stomach hurts, and he can see tears streaming from Jack’s eyes as he laughs too. It feels good. 

A hand rests on one of Jamie’s shoulders and another on his other elbow. “C’mon, I think that’s your cue. Let’s get you back to your room.” 

Jamie looks up blearily and gasps a few times before he is able to compose himself enough to say, “Aw, Claude, you’re such a good friend…” 

The man tugs on Jamie and helps him to stand up, but shakes his head while doing so. “I’m Caleb. Claude’s helping Jack.” And sure enough, when Jamie manages to focus his eyes he sees Jack draped heavily against the other man with whom they’d been dancing. “See? We’ll get you home safely.” 

“Ooookaaaay…” Jamie says, drawing out the vowels in a ridiculous way that makes him start laughing again. He’s able to walk though, leaning against Caleb as the hallway spins around him. Occasionally it spins enough that he sees Claude is carrying Jack now, legs draped over one arm, the other arm holding Jack’s back close so he won’t fall, Jack’s head resting against a dark cheek and neck. With a bit of concentration, Jamie sees that Jack’s lips are moving against Claude’s skin, and a hot flare of jealousy stabs through him. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but he feels it as a tightening of his crotch, and all Jamie can think of is that Jack is _his_. When they get back to Jack’s room, he will mark him, will take him, so that everyone knows Jack belongs to Jamie. 

Time moves strangely, and Jamie’s awareness flows in and out as they stumble down the hall, until finally he realizes that he and Jack have been lying on Jack’s bed for some time, and the twins have shut the door on their way out. Jamie sits up on his elbows, and seeing a glass of water on the nightstand, he manages to get the glass to his lips and take a deep drink. Setting it back down with exaggerated care, he looks at Jack lying next to him. The smaller man is lying face down, entirely shirtless, his blue sweater lying crumpled in the bed next to him. Apparently Jack pushed it off at some point, and now lays semi-conscious in his bed. Jamie reaches out a hand and gently runs it along the alabaster back before him from shoulder to waist. There, Jack’s tight brown leggings cover his legs and impede Jamie’s motion. 

Jamie continues to rub his hand over Jack’s back, and after a bit Jack opens his eyes. His pale lips open a crack, and Jack whispers, “water.” Jamie helps Jack up to a sitting position and hands him the remaining water. After drinking it down thirstily, Jack passes the glass back, and winces as he extends his arm. Jamie’s brows furrow in concern, and seeing this Jack explains, “shoulder.” 

“Ah,” Jamie responds simply, places the now-empty glass back on the nightstand, then helps Jack to return to lying face down on the bed. Throwing one leg over Jack’s body, Jamie sits up straddling his hips, and places both his hands against Jack’s back and gently runs them both along Jack’s spine. He then reaches up to Jack’s shoulders and begins to firmly press. A hum of pleasure vibrates through Jack’s body as Jamie massages him, concentrating on the sore left shoulder. 

Jamie can feel the knot in Jack’s shoulder slowly loosen up, and once it does so, he moves on to the rest of Jack’s upper body, arms then back, traveling slowly but steadily downwards. When he reaches the waistband of Jack’s tights, this time Jamie tugs upwards on his hips slightly. In response Jack lifts them enough for Jamie to reach around and roll the tights down over his hips, leaving his dance belt in place. As Jack lowers himself back to the bed, Jamie lovingly pulls the leggings off him the rest of the way. The white dance belt is hardly noticeable against Jack’s nearly translucent skin. 

Continuing his path down Jack’s body, Jamie massages his thighs and calves, and is working on his feet and tender toes when he hears Jack whisper something. Jamie crawls back up the bed to place his ear next to Jack’s lips so he can hear better. “What’s that?” Jamie inquires. 

“Skin,” the syllable whispers out breathily. “Feel your skin.” Jack lays sprawled on the bed in a languorous pose, clearly unable to move. Jamie smiles in affection and begins unbuttoning the few remaining buttons at the bottom of his shirt. He shrugs the shirt and vest from his shoulders together, tossing them to the side of the bed, then starts to work on his pants. Come to think of it, Jamie isn’t too sure where his jacket has gotten to. Oh well, if it doesn’t turn up he’ll just have to replace it. It wouldn’t be the first item of clothing he’d lost at the Ballet Populaire after a performance. 

Leaning back and lifting his own hips from the bed, Jamie quickly pulls off his pants and with relief lets his hardness escape from his underwear as it joins the rest of the items on the floor. With a sigh, Jamie rolls atop Jack again, this time pressing the lengths of their bodies together: Jamie’s chest against Jack’s back, lining his arms up over Jack’s and holding Jack’s wrists in a firm grasp, his legs against Jack’s pale ones. Jamie moves to press his member between Jack’s thighs, squeezed between them, feeling hot against Jack’s cool skin. The sensation is amazing, making his heart hammer in his chest, and Jamie lowers his mouth to the back of Jack’s neck. 

Placing his lips at the junction of his neck and shoulder, Jamie begins to suck and nibble at Jack’s skin, at first lightly, then harder, remaining in the same place throughout. Jack starts to moan as Jamie continues to suck and nip, being careful not to break the skin, and finally Jamie pulls back to admire his handiwork. An oval, flushed a beautiful red against the whiteness, that Jamie knows will bruise soon, marking Jack as his own. At the sight, Jamie’s erection twitches between Jack’s legs. He owns Jack; Jack is his. And it is time to claim his prize. 

Jamie shifts his hands so that his left holds both of Jack’s wrists together above his head. He brings the fingers of his right hand to his mouth, and licks and sucks on them for a time, coating them with saliva. As he does so, his stalk pulses again where it is surrounded by cool skin, as Jamie imagines Jack instead sucking on it. 

Withdrawing the fingers from his mouth and sliding his torso slightly to the side, Jamie traces one fingertip from the bruise on Jack’s neck, down along his spine, over the waistband of the dance belt, to the cleft of Jack’s ass. He feels Jack stir beneath him as he does so, though whether in protest or eagerness Jamie doesn’t really know and he is too far gone in his lust and with the alcohol coursing through his veins to care as much as he might have. Jamie tightens his grip on Jack’s wrists, pushes aside the thin strip of fabric on his derrière, and begins to probe between his slender cheeks. And there, he finds Jack’s rosebud. 

Jamie presses slightly at Jack’s tight opening with one finger. Jack gasps as he does so, and Jamie’s hardness twitches in response. He gently probes at the edges of the opening, pressing sideways and stretching with a second finger. Jack periodically clenches and loosens in response, but Jamie relentlessly continues until he feels less resistance in the middle. With that, Jamie presses one finger firmly inside, up to the second knuckle. Jack gasps again and this time writhes against him, almost as though he is trying to escape from the intense sensations. Jamie presses his upper body down against Jack’s, and Jack into the sheets of the bed, each leg pinning one of Jack’s, the slighter man’s wrists still firmly clasped in his single hand. 

When Jack stops moving, Jamie begins moving instead: his single finger in and out, and around, searching. From this angle and with only one finger inserted, he isn’t able to find what he is looking for, Jack’s sensitive spot deep within. Jamie raises his torso up for a moment, and spits down at his hand to add more lubrication. He then lets his first finger rest and probes Jack’s rosebud with his second. Jack clamps down tight on Jamie’s first finger, denying entrance to his second. 

Jamie feels his patience must be near infinite. Jack is so tight on his finger, and as much as he wants to feel that around his shaft he waits out the pulses, then begins prodding and stretching with his second finger at the opening again. Jamie hears small gasps from beneath him, and murmurs nonsense words in response, reassuring, comforting sounds, to encourage Jack to relax. As he does, he presses gently against Jack’s pucker, pushing in one direction with the finger inside, and another direction with the finger seeking entrance. “I love you,” Jamie finally whispers, and Jack sighs out. Jamie feels the tension leave his anus and quickly takes advantage of the moment to slide the other finger inside to join the first. Jack groans again, a throaty sound coming from deep inside his chest, and clamps down on Jamie’s fingers so hard he’s unable to move them. 

As Jack’s muscles begin to relax again, Jamie begins to move his fingers, a few strokes slowly in and out, then deep in and around in a circle. Jamie feels a small protrusion and as he brushes his fingers against it, Jack’s whole body stiffens beneath him as Jamie hears his breath catch in his throat. Jamie holds still, and in a few moments once again Jack starts to relax, which is exactly when Jamie rubs against his sweet spot once more. Jack’s body bucks against him, his tunnel spasming so hard around Jamie’s fingers that they’re nearly expelled. With the motions, Jamie’s penis shifts from between Jack’s legs to rest against the cleft of his ass. Jamie presses his fingers back inside Jack as he hears Jack moan wantonly into the pillow. He curls his fingers _just so_ and rubs against Jack’s prostate again, this time insistently and unceasingly. 

Jack writhes between Jamie and the sheets, and Jamie realizes he is rutting his own erection into the channel made of Jack’s cheeks. Jack’s gasping beneath him, making little mewling sounds each time Jamie presses on his button deep inside. It is time. Jack is ready, and Jamie has waited long enough. 

Withdrawing his fingers from Jack’s channel, Jamie moves to position his head against the opening instead. Jack whimpers slightly. “No, don’t,” he protests softly, and ineffectually attempts to pull his hands from Jamie’s grip. 

“Hush,” Jamie whispers, accompanying his words into Jack’s ear with a little lick that makes the man beneath him shudder again. “This will feel so good.” Jamie presses slightly, applying pressure to Jack’s opening. 

“No,” Jack says again as Jamie feels him opening to his manhood. “Stop,” Jack murmurs, his legs attempting to move out from beneath Jamie’s. 

Just the tip of Jamie’s head slips inside. The pressure is intense, he can feel Jack’s ring squeeze around him. He looks down at Jack’s face, and sees a wince there, more than just pain though, something else, denial or hurt? Surprised at this, Jamie questions, “Don’t you love me Jack?” 

The response surprises him even more: a whimpered “No...” 

In shock and hurt, Jamie pulls out and rolls off of Jack, both men gasping as he does so, Jamie’s hardness deflating quickly. 

Jack’s breathing is shallow. After a bit Jamie realizes that Jack is sobbing into the pillow, and he turns to place a hand gently on Jack’s cool skin. “I… I’m sorry…”

“No, it’s not that,” Jack says. As he continues, he starts and stops repeatedly. “I do love you. It’s just… I can’t… I want to but… What about… Please, let’s not fight… Wait till the time is right…”

Jamie pulls his hand away from Jack, flops back to his side of the bed, and huffs out a breath. “But Jack, when will that be? What are you afraid of?” 

Jack lifts himself up slightly onto his side to face Jamie, and reaches one hand out to touch his arm. “Let’s not argue.” 

“Yeah, sure. Let’s not argue,” Jamie agrees with reluctance. “I can only hope I’ll understand in time.” 

“You will.” 

Jamie rolls over, to face away from Jack, and curls himself into a tight ball, feeling more alone than before he met Jack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh poor boys, my heart’s breaking for you both. 
> 
> I’ve always viewed the purpose of “Entr’acte” as being to remind the audience after the intermission of the musical themes from the first Act, to reestablish the scene, and to somewhat show that 6 months had taken place between Act I and Act II. I decided to do that with a little pwp. You know you’ve been wanting it. Or was that just me? ;) Hope I wasn’t too teasing. If I was… does that mean I can join the Evil Authors Club now? Or maybe I already did a while ago with Sophie. Or before that with Jack’s sister… 
> 
> The text for the conversation at the end was taken from the middle of “Masquerade”. 
> 
> This’s the second time Jamie’s ended up drunk and on top of a table, the first time was mentioned in “Notes (Part II)”, Chapter 11. The idea of straight-laced Raoul dancing on a table just gives me a giggle fit. 
> 
> The other item of lost clothing referred to herein was his top hat, left beneath Jamie’s seat in Box 5 during Chapter 13, “Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh”. When I am aware of loose ends like this, I don’t like to leave them dangling, but I couldn’t see any way to fix that in the rest of Ch 13, nor in 14 or 15, so I guess it was just lost in the end. 
> 
> In the next chapter, six months have passed since the disaster on the opening night of _Il Muto_ with no sign of the Guardian, and managers North and Sandy throw a New Year’s ball. Next up, Chapter 17: “Masquerade”.


	17. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months have passed since the disaster on the opening night of _Il Muto_ with no sign of the Guardian, and managers North and Sandy throw a New Year’s ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake_ \- an 1877 Russian ballet where a princess (Odette) is turned into a swan by an evil magician (Rothbert), and can only be saved by the true love of her prince (Siegfried).

Jack tugs the reluctant Jamie along in his wake. “C’mon, we’re already late enough as is.” 

“That’s because you and Baby took so long to get those feathers arranged _just so_ ,” Jamie chuckles but still drags his heels. 

Jack rolls his eyes and tugs again. “That’s because if I’m going to do Odette, a character that just _everybody_ in ballet today knows, I want to do her right!” Jack first runs his eye along the white goose feathers up his front, curving up along his upper chest to give the illusion of breasts, then cranes his neck around to look at his back, where more feathers sprout from his shoulders to make fluffy wings inspired by those of a swan. Baby Tooth really did a great job with the metal framework on those, though Jack himself had attached the feathers. Around his neck Jack wears Jamie’s signet ring on a silver chain. Jamie’s personal seal is carved into an agate shaped like an egg, with an embossed star nestled within a crescent Moon. Wearing it so openly to such a public event is Jack’s little apology for not being able to give his partner the other acknowledgements of his love that he craves. Not able or not willing, Jack isn’t entirely sure which, and isn’t sure it matters. 

With the hand not pulling on Jamie’s, Jack first adjusts the tiara nestled in his silver hair yet again, and then tugs his white tutu down slightly over his white leggings. “Something about this skirt makes me feel entirely naked.” 

“Hah!” Jamie laughs. “ _You_ feel naked? You should be used to prancing about in that, in fact you’re wearing more on the bottom than you usually do on stage. _Me_ however…” Jamie trails off and gestures at his own lower half. He too wears tight white leggings, and though Jamie’s are more opaque than Jack’s, Jack’s appear the same shade due to his own pale skin. A white jacket with black embroidery covers Jamie’s arms, though the deep plunging neckline reveals most of his hairless chest. Jack resists the urge to lick his lips while inspecting his partner’s attire. Then Jack notices Jamie’s nervous eyes watching him, and he does lick his lips, slowly and deliberately. Jamie blushes fetchingly and looks away. Jack laughs and pulls on his hand again. “You make a beautiful Siegfried to my Odette. C’mon, let’s go!” 

Letting Jack drag him along, Jamie still manages to whine, “Tell me again why you chose these costumes. Why do you think anybody will care?” 

Offended, Jack stops so abruptly that Jamie nearly crashes into his feathered wings. Dropping Jamie’s hand, Jack puts both of his on his hips. “Because ‘Swan Lake’ is only the best ballet that the Russians have ever produced, and everybody knows it! I’m Odette, a princess who has been turned into a swan. You’re Siegfried, the prince who discovers Odette when he goes out hunting and falls in love with her, duh!” 

Jamie steps in closer and places his hands atop Jack’s on his waist. Jack tries not to let the thrill he feels run through him visibly. “And tell me,” Jamie asks throatily, nuzzling his nose into Jack’s silvered hair, “do the lovers get a happy ending?” Jamie starts to step in closer with one leg, but Jack takes the same step back to prevent him from becoming too much of a distraction. 

“Well, actually, I’m not really sure about that part of the story,” Jack hedges. “I’ve actually heard a few different versions. In one version Siegfried saves Odette with his love and manages to kill the evil magician who transformed her into a swan – that’s Rothbert. In another version Rothbert kills Siegfried, and Odette is forced to stay with the bad guy for the rest of her life. But then Baby told me that what really happens is that _both_ Odette and Siegfrield die, but that one’s supposedly not really a sad ending because after they die, they both fly up to the Moon together as swans.” 

Jamie raises his eyebrows at this last part. “That definitely sounds like an unhappy ending to me. The lovers are both dead!” 

Jack shakes his head slowly and thoughtfully. “No… I think it’s kinda like ‘The Little Mermaid’, where at the end the mermaid dies but she gets a soul. That’s what makes it happy, that finally after death Odette and Siegfried can be together.” 

Jamie shakes his head in surprise. “For a mere ballet dancer, you are quite well read.” 

Jack slaps Jamie lightly on the arm in protest, then slides his hand down to grab his once again. “C’mon, you’re making us even later!”

“Me?!” Jamie protests, but follows.

* * *

The main stage where the masquerade is being held has been kept deliberately dim for the party, the new chandelier remains unlit, and there is already quite a crowd milling around. Jack sees Messieurs North and Sandy congratulating each other in a corner. North wears a brown leisure suit, a shirt that has been dyed a bold yellow, and a vest in gold. On the other hand, the smaller but still rotund Sandy has surprisingly gone with a formal black tuxedo and top hat without a single spot of brown, yellow, or gold on his person. Even his vest is a sedate dark grey, and he holds a decorative wooden cane too tall for him with a glass ball at the top. Waitasec, that cane looks familiar. Jack turns to Jamie with a suspicious glance, and at the taller man’s attempt to look innocent Jack is convinced of his complicity in Sandy’s costume. Clearly North has chosen to dress as Sandy, while Sandy is dressed as Jamie, though Jamie has failed to complete the circle by not dressing as North. 

As he turns back to the owners, Jack sees North slap Sandy heartily on the back and nearly knock him over – apparently their costumes have not changed their behavior one whit. Jack smiles and shakes his head and walks with Jamie to the table with hors d'oeuvres, hearing North loudly propose a toast to the new chandelier as they walk off. 

The small group of musicians volunteering to work the party strike up a new musical piece before Jack and Jamie can reach the food table however, and Jack turns and grabs Jamie’s other hand as well. Jack can feel the beat permeating his body. “Let’s dance,” he says, somewhere between a question and an order.

* * *

Jamie shakes his head ruefully. He knows it is pointless to argue, he can never hold out long against Jack’s infectious grin and that twinkle in his eye. “You dance for a living,” he protests out of pure habit, “why would you want to dance again now, on your off time?” 

With a chuckle, Jack replies, “I dance because I love it. Come, help me join my two loves.” 

Jamie rolls his eyes at Jack’s corny phrasing, and places his hands comfortably on Jack’s waist, where they belong. He may not be a professional, but Jamie knows the basic steps of this dance and moves through them with his slimmer partner. Jack mixes traditional ballroom moves with ballet, first resting the fingertips of his left hand lightly on Jamie’s shoulder while drawing Jamie’s left hand up and out with his own right, then rising to his toes, _en pointe_ , and taking quick tiny steps to Jamie’s larger and slower ones. When Jamie dips Jack, he feels the complete trust the other has in him, as he bends backwards over the arm in the small of his back. Jamie puts the slightest additional pressure against Jack’s back again, and he responds to the cue with a lithe curve of his body. Each part of Jack’s body presses against his in turn, first his shins, then his thighs, then he feels Jack’s hips and groin grind against his in yet another teasing promise, and then their chests are pressed together as Jack brings his face up, lips a mere hair’s width away from his own. 

Six months now they have been together. Six months and still Jack makes promises with his body that he has yet to keep. They have kissed, they have touched, their hands have roamed over each others’ bodies… Jamie feels his passion rise as he remembers that night just a couple weeks ago, but he shakes his head to clear it of the memory, part arousing and part disturbing. He does not know what it is Jack still waits for, but he wants to honor his partner’s wishes, and regrets his actions of that night. But it has been six months! Six agonizing months of constant teasing and no release, for either of them. Six months of bliss, sharing Jack’s bed every night, and standing beside him at every celebration, like this one. 

The crowds swirl around Jamie just as Jack takes a step back for _fouettés en tournant_ , and they are parted momentarily.

* * *

Jack spins with his left leg _en pointe_ and his right working around him, spotting on the deep brown eyes of his partner with each turn. He manages to catch quick glimpses of the others surrounding them. Some of the colors are garish, mauve next to puce. A jester dances with a music box monkey holding cymbals, and for a moment Jack’s heart stops. He steps out of the turn to hide his shock and changes it into a leap. Then Jack presses his back against Jamie’s chest, and allows the taller man to lead him in a promenade around the border of the room. Jack sees more faces: a ghost and a ghoul, neither one quite evoking the Phantom; a group of men from the _corps de ballet_ dressed as orangutans, one with a crown added to his head; a woman with a dour face wears a conservative black dress; and – hey wait a second… Jack turns back to the simple black dress. It fits snugly around the woman’s waist and chest, but the high collar up her neck along with the un-bustled skirt touching the floor are what give the impression of modesty. And the woman inside this dress? Why she has hazel eyes and for a moment Jack fears that Madame Toothiana will loose her sharp tongue for his staring at her, but then she smiles at his shock and the mask of severity is momentarily wiped from her face. Jack shakes his head with a returning smile and continues to crowd watch. 

The colors swirl around them as Jack and Jamie return to the dance floor. Grinning yellows, spinning reds. Heads turn as Jack and Jamie pass, many of the other dancers nodding acknowledgement of their costumes. For a moment Jack catches a burning glance from Bunnymund across the room, but he is gone too quickly for Jack to make out his costume. Jack swallows his trepidation and dances on. Eye of gold, thigh of blue - and Jack turns quickly to search out that golden flash he has just seen, only to realize it is part of a clown mask, nothing more. Leering satyrs watch his every motion from the crowd, and Jack’s nervousness swells again. There’s no reason to be nervous, he tells himself, but of course it makes no difference. With another spin Jack could swear he sees seething shadows out of the corner of his eye, but as he spins towards it the sight is revealed to simply be a black cloak swirling around another dancer. 

Ignoring the concern rising within him, Jack continues to dance. 

Momentarily separated from Jamie by his own motions, Jack is spinning in place when the music screeches to a halt. Jack ends his spin, ducking into a crouch, left leg extended flat against the floor behind him, right curled up underneath him, ready to spring into action or away. From his perspective near the ground, Jack can see all heads around him turn towards the back of the stage they stand on, but he cannot see what it is that they look at. Then people begin to shuffle, and the crowds part, and what Jack sees brings all his fears back into his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This version of](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rJoB7y6Ncs) Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake_ inspired Jamie’s costume, and a web search of other costumes inspired Jack’s. This ballet was first performed in 1877, and as Phantom is set in 1881-2 it is not actually anachronistic! (However, it may be ana-location-istic, as it was only performed in Moscow, so who knows whether anyone at the Ballet Populaire would know much about it.) The many endings mentioned by Jack have been used throughout the history of the ballet. And *dun dun dun* I bet everyone now thinks they know how this is going to end. ;) 
> 
> “The Little Mermaid” was published by Hans Christian Andersen in 1837, so no anachronism in time there, though I’m not sure if this one also would’ve gotten to Paris in a readable format by this time. SPOILERS: The ending mentioned here is the original, and its removal from the Disney version is my least favorite part of that interpretation. 
> 
> The men dressed as orangutans are an homage to Edgar Allen Poe’s “Hop-Frog”, published in 1849, which you can read [here](http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/eapoe/bl-eapoe-hop.htm). I included this because of the Phantom’s wearing the “Mask of the Red Death” (also Poe) costume in the original scene. 
> 
> Jamie’s personal seal, as described on the ring Jack wears around his neck, is inspired by the T-shirt that the RotG Jamie wears to sleep, of an egg, star, and crescent Moon. 
> 
> The chapters are coming hot and heavy now folks! I've written through 22 right now, and I'm going to keep posting twice a week until I've used up most of that buffer. I've got the song titles and summaries for ALL the remaining chapters, and I know the major outline of how they're going to go. For the most part the chapters are getting easier for me to write as I approach the ending I've known about for some time, and in other ways they're getting harder as there's some heavy-hitting scenes and I want to make sure I do them right. I hope you're all enjoying the ride! :) 
> 
> In the next chapter, the Guardian returns bearing gifts, and Jamie finally corners Madame Toothiana. Next up, Chapter 18: “Why So Silent?”


	18. “Why So Silent?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Guardian returns bearing gifts, and Jamie finally corners Madame Toothiana.

The music screeches to a halt and all heads turn towards the back of the stage. The crowd edges away from the source of their fear, effectively parting around Jack, and as Jack rises from his crouch he can see at what they stare. A tall man all in black stands alone with a large space between himself and the crowd. He has a strong nose and prominent angular cheekbones, and above them his golden eyes pierce those of anyone brave enough to meet them, and quickly cut them down to size. His dark clothing tightly hugs his entire body in a single piece, from his feet, up his legs, to his torso and arms. His chest is adorned with sparkling patterns suggestive of feathers, and fluttering down from his arms and up from his head are more flows of black material: wings and a crest. Rothbert, Jack realizes, the evil magician who held the swan princess captive. And Jack is dressed as that princess, Odette, with Jamie as his Prince Siegfried. The blackness looks very much like fabric to Jack, and he swallows convulsively at the sight. And at the choice of costume; of course the Ballet Ghost knew Jack’s costume somehow. 

The Phantom steps forward, towards the crowd, and looks to North and Sandy who stand at the front. His velvet voice seems to reach out from his body and wrap itself around the two owners. “Why so silent, good Messieurs? Don’t tell me you thought I had left you for good.” The two men seem torn between shaking their heads no, nodding their heads yes, or just passing out or bolting from the room. As they tremble, the dark-clothed man continues, a wicked smile on his face, showing too many teeth. “My good Messieurs, have you wondered where I’ve been? I have written you a ballet. Here I bring the finished score: ‘Don Juan Triumphant’!” 

With this, the Guardian pulls a large black manuscript from behind his back. There is no way he could have hidden the tome in the form-fitting clothing he's wearing, Jack knows, and he shivers even as his mind avoids trying to fill in that unknown with some shadowy answer. As the frozen audience watches, the Phantom holds the book over his head, waiting a moment to make sure all have seen it, then tosses it to North and Sandy. The two men scramble to catch it, afraid of the results should it hit the floor. 

The Phantom’s yellow-gold eyes bore into the owners as he watches them fumble the manuscript then steady it. “I advise you to comply. I have notated the dances as well as the music.” And then with a malicious glint in his eye, “Remember there are worse things than a shattered chandelier.” The two owners wince simultaneously, though whether worrying over the cost of replacing their new chandelier yet again, or remembering that the old one’s loss was eclipsed by the loss of the life of one of their soloists, the partner of their prima donna, Jack could not say. The gleaming eyes stray to the side and Jack follows their path, seeing Bunnymund clearly for the first time that night. He wears a jacket that could be a military uniform or the robe of some Eastern sage and martial artist, dark green, double-breasted with bronze oval buttons, with a purple belt appearing to indicate rank tied around his waist. As the golden eyes fall upon him, Bunnymund blanches, and Jack can see that he too shakes, but Bunnymund takes no action. 

Jack’s eyes are drawn back to the dark man as he moves. When he steps forward, the crowd flows further away from the space between the Guardian and Jack. He feels his heart leap up into his throat, and he wants nothing more than to back away from the approaching figure, to turn and run and hide in Jamie’s arms. But the crowd has melted away from behind Jack as well, and out of the corner of his eye he can see Jamie standing stunned and frozen. Jack knows that before now Jamie has only half believed in the existence of the Phantom at all, but here he stands before them… 

The tall man stops a few feet in front of Jack, glowing eyes boring into his. Jack realizes he is unable to breathe and his heart hammers so hard he fears it might stop. At the same time though, he feels a warmth radiating off the man that pulls him closer. Jack steps forward a single step, unwilling, and now he is within arm’s reach of the other. As he watches mesmerized, the man’s bright eyes drop from his face to his neck, and Jack feels time stop as he knows what he must be seeing: Jamie’s signet ring hanging on the silver chain around his neck, nestled intimately in the cleavage of his costume’s false bosom. 

A hand cloaked in darkness reaches up to Jack’s chest and he trembles as he feels the heat approach. With a fluid movement, never touching Jack’s skin, the Phantom grabs ahold of the ring and wraps the chain around his hand so that Jack is pulled even closer. The other man leans forward the scant inch separating their mouths and lightly, tantalizingly, brushes his warm lips against Jack’s bloodless ones, then with agonizing slowness the dark man slides his unmoving lips along Jack’s cheek and towards his ear. Jack suppresses the shiver that he feels run down his spine from his shoulder blades, down his back, and to his derrière, and he doesn’t know if the shiver is in fear or desire. Once the lips are at his ear a whisper sneaks out from between them, makes its way into Jack’s ear and mind, the breath warm against his earlobe, and Jack’s eyes close. “Your chains are still mine,” the Guardian informs Jack calmly, decisively, possessively. “You will dance for _me_.” 

And at that, the Phantom gives one sharp tug on the chain, and it breaks at the back of Jack’s neck. Jack’s hand jerks up to touch the stinging pain without his conscious thought, and he pulls his hand back in front of his face to see if any blood was drawn. Looking up again quickly, he realizes that either the crowds or shadows have swirled around the other man, and the Phantom is gone. Along with Jamie’s ring, the token of their love.

* * *

Jamie watches the tableau before him, stunned. The man confidently striding towards Jack is just as he was described: tall, muscled in an athletic way that shows the muscles are used for speed and precision, clothed all in black but for some silver splashes on his chest, a long strong nose, and yellow eyes that seem to claim ownership of all they see. The presence of the man – the Guardian - captures the eyes and attention of all in the room. Up until the moment when he brings his lips to Jack’s, however. It would be bad enough if his lover just stood there and accepted it, but Jamie can see his body tremble and sway towards the dark man, and as his lips draw close to Jack’s, the smaller man’s lips part. Jamie cannot bear to watch and tears his eyes away, turning from the tableau before him that both disturbs and arouses. Doing so, he catches sight of Madame Toothiana in the back of the crowd silently slipping away. It is time for some questions to be answered. Jamie risks one glance back at Jack, only to see the Phantom whisper something in his ear, and he resolutely turns from the scene to follow the dance instructor. 

She slips from the stage and hurries down a hall, Jamie following quietly behind. After she turns a corner though, he steps out behind her and calls out to her. “Madame Toothiana. Madame Toothiana!” 

Clearly anticipating his questions, she keeps walking, refusing to turn, waving one hand behind herself at him, as she calls back, “Monsieur, don't ask me - I know no more than anyone else.”

Jamie raises his voice. “That's not true,” he says striding quickly after her, closing the gap between them. He reaches forward and grabs her arm, turning the woman to face him. “You know something, don’t you?”

She stares him straight in the eye, her hazel ones churning with doubt and confusion, Jamie’s deep brown eyes calm with his resolve. She swallows, clearly on the defensive. “I. Know. Nothing. But please, monsieur, don’t ask me!” She yanks her arm from his grip, and hurries away. 

“Madame!” Jamie calls out after her in desperation. “For all our sakes…” 

Maybe it is the anguish Jamie cannot keep out of his voice, but she finally pauses, head down. “Very well,” she says softly, without turning to face him. “It was years ago. There was a travelling fair in the city. Tumblers, conjurors, human oddities…” 

Her words send a shiver down Jamie’s spine, but he urges her to continue. “Go on.” 

Now Toothiana turns as she answers, but her gaze is distant. “There was… I shall never forget him: a man, locked in a cage…” 

“In a cage…?” 

Toothiana’s eyes turn to his face. “A prodigy, monsieur! Scholar, general, musician.” 

“A composer,” Jamie says, as much a statement as a question. 

“And a military genius too, monsieur,” Madame Toothiana confirms. “They boasted he had once led an army of golden warriors to defeat the shadows.” 

To defeat the shadows? But that man out there seemed more _made_ of shadows. “Who was this man?” Jamie asks, his breath coming more quickly. 

“He was set to guard the prison of the shadows, of the nightmares. But the general fell prey to them,” continues Madame Toothiana, “now more monster than man.” 

“Corrupted?”

She nods. “The shadows took him over, it seemed. Made him their own. Distorted his mind and his body until he was nothing but the king of nightmares himself.” 

Jamie’s stomach roils. “My Moon - Jack!” To think he’d left Jack with this creature. And that Jack had been alone with him, in his lair. Who knows what this Nightmare King could have done to him. 

“And then,” the dance mistress continues relentlessly, “he went missing. He escaped.” 

“Go on.” Jamie doesn’t want to know, but he needs to know. 

“They never found him. It was said he had died.” 

Jamie shakes his head. “But he didn't die, did he?” His breaths now are shallow and quick with his fear. 

“The world forgot him, but I never can. For in this darkness I have seen him again.” 

Jamie nods. This story explains much. “And so our Phantom's this man.” 

Madame Toothiana jerks, as though coming out of a trance. “I have said too much, Monsieur. And there have been too many accidents.” She steps back from him, and turns. 

“Accidents?!” asks Jamie. But the woman completes her turn and hurries down the hallway away from him. “Madame Toothiana!” Jamie calls, then runs after her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Phantom’s costume here is inspired by Rothbert’s bird costume in [that same version of “Swan Lake”](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9rJoB7y6Ncs). Bunny’s outfit is intended to resemble that in “E. Aster Bunnymund and the Warrior Eggs at the Earth’s Core.” I’m finally reading the books because I wanted to make sure I got Pitch’s backstory right in the second scene here – you read that right: fanfic inspired me to buy the author’s original works. 
> 
> In the next chapter, more notes arrive. Again. Next up: Chapter 19, “Notes (Reprise)”


	19. Notes (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Ballet Populaire begins looking over the score for the Phantom’s ballet, they receive more notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out that there isn’t any single accepted notation for dance movements, but different ballet traditions use different notation systems. Presumably the Phantom knows that used by the Ballet Populaire, making the manuscript of “Don Juan” possible.

Sandy sits in his and North’s office, once again sipping his English breakfast tea, for he needs every trick in the book to calm himself down upon reading the ludicrous score. The door bangs open and Sandy eagerly sets aside his teacup and jumps to his feet to complain to North as he storms in. 

“This is final straw!” North bellows. Sandy opens his mouth to agree, and isn’t at all surprised as North overrides him, going on about the lunacy of it all. He is content for a bit to let North fume for the both of them, then places a placating hand on the portly man’s arm. North turns to look down at Sandy’s raised eyebrows, and sighs deeply. “You’re right, we daren’t refuse. We can’t afford another chandelier.” 

Sandy sighs more lightly and wipes a hand over his eyes. As he removes his hand, he notices something upon the table: two pieces of paper folded, each with a black wax seal, bearing the image of a tall man with smoke swirling around the figure. Passing North his note, Sandy breaks the black seal on his. As North reads his aloud, Sandy ignores him to read his own. The Ballet Ghost is making “recommendations” of which orchestra members to replace. While Sandy personally agrees that the third trombone needs to go, it’s much more difficult to find a good bassoonist. And besides, they can’t give in to his demands. 

Sandy waits until North finishes his muttering, then swaps notes with him. This one points out that a number of the dancers have apparently not been practicing and should be replaced with ones more willing to actually make an effort. 

North is still reciting Sandy’s letter as the door slams open and Bunnymund storms in. 

“Outrage!” he blurts, and for a moment there is a stunned silence, once which is not filled by anyone. 

Sandy nudges North, who shakes himself and prompts, “What is it now?”

As if this were the cue he’d been waiting for, Bunnymund says again, “This whole affair is an outrage!”

Sandy waves a placating hand at the principal dancer, while North inquires what is the matter. 

“Just look at this,” Bunnymund fumes, “have you seen my part? It’s an insult!” 

North quickly drops into the role of appeasing Bunnymund, it’s one he’s rehearsed many times after all, with Sandy by his side nodding agreement. 

“Please, understand, Signor!”

Bunnymund rolls his eyes. “The things I have to do for my art – if you can call this earbashing ‘art’!” 

As Bunnymund talks, the door opens again, but this time more gently, and Jack Frost enters, hand lightly resting upon the arm of Jamie, Viscount de Bennett.

* * *

As Jack enters the managers’ office, hand perched gently upon Jamie’s crooked arm, it is clear that the trio are in the middle of a tiff, as usual, but all eyes turn towards them as they enter. No wait, the eyes are on Jack alone. 

“Ah! Here's our little flower!” Bunnymund bites out. 

North raises his hands to Jack, “Ah, Mister Frost, quite the gentleman of the hour. You’ve secured the largest role in this ‘Don Juan’.” Sandy passes over a copy of Jack’s part, and he hesitantly begins to peruse it with his free hand. 

An inelegant snort from Bunnymund surprises Jack. “Jack Frost? He doesn't have the skill!”

Sandy gasps as North admonishes Bunnymund for his words, but Jack feels Jamie drop his arm and stride forward. Looking between the two managers, Jamie says “then I take it you agree?” Jack isn’t sure what Jamie is asking about, but Sandy nods his head slowly and North opens his mouth to answer, when Bunnymund has an outburst.

“He’s the one behind this! Jack. Frost!” Jack’s head whips around to where Bunnymund is pointing an accusing finger at the smaller dancer. 

Cold anger immediately flares within Jack, and the words burst out of his mouth before he is conscious of them. “How dare you!” 

“I’m not a fool,” Bunnymund replies, crossing his arms over his chest and turning his nose up. 

“You evil man!” Jack flares in response, unable to control the words tumbling out of him. He strides up to Bunnymund until there are scant inches between them, and Jack is sure every hair on his body is standing on end in threat. “How dare you!” 

Bunnymund refuses to make eye contact with Jack, as though he is no threat at all. He lifts one hand before himself and examines his nails. “You think I’m blind?” 

“This isn’t my fault!” Jack flings his arms to his sides for emphasis, slapping the score on his leg, and leans in towards Bunnymund. “I don't want any part in this plot.” 

North steps towards the pair. “Mister Frost, surely…” Out of the corner of his eye Jack sees Sandy throw his hands in the air. “It’s your decision,” North goes on, turning away, then suddenly turns back to him. “But why not?” 

Bunnymund apparently has finished inspecting his nails. He turns further from Jack, dismissing him, and waves a hand at the owners. “He’s backing out.” 

North looks between the two, then focuses on the recalcitrant Jack once more. “You have a duty,” he pleads. 

“I cannot do it, duty or not!” Jack crosses his arms, score folded to his chest, and turns away, presenting a resolute façade to the other men in the room. Internally though, Jack is in turmoil. 

Jamie steps before him, places one firm hand on each of Jack’s upper arms, holding him in such a way that Jack is unsure whether Jamie means to comfort him, or to shake sense into him. “Jack, Jack. You don't have to,” he reassures, and turns to throw a fiery glance at the others as he continues, “They can't make you.” 

“Messieurs.” Everyone in the room jumps at the crisp feminine voice, and all turn to see that Madame Toothiana has entered the room, without a bang of the door. “Please, another note.” She holds a paper before her and begins reading it before anyone can protest. 

“Fondest greetings to you all. A few instructions just before rehearsal starts.” As she speaks, Toothiana’s voice becomes smoother, and Jack shivers at the resonant quality it begins to take on. She steps up to the historical lead dancer. “Bunny must be taught to act, not his normal trick of strutting round the stage.” It’s unnatural, this is not how her voice usually sounds, and then Jack realizes the words are echoing from elsewhere in the room. Another step and Madame Toothiana stands before the ballet owners. “My managers must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts.” It’s almost as if the shadows are speaking in chorus with the small woman. Jack would shiver at that thought if he weren’t frozen in place. 

And then she takes another step and is in front of Jack himself. “As for Mister Jack Frost…” Jack faces the woman before him, but he does not see her. Instead he sees golden eyes gleaming out from a darkness deeper than a moonless night. “No doubt he'll do his best. It's true his skill is good.” Jack wraps his arms tighter around himself as the slick voice flows into him and fills his mind. “He knows, though, should he wish to excel he has much still to learn.” Jack knows this is true, and his mind’s eye is filled with that glorious night when he danced to unheard music, in a _pas de deux_ through a cavern, the steps bringing out the best in him. “If pride will let him return to me, his teacher, his teacher...” The voice trails off, echoing the silence within Jack. His teacher showed him how to channel the pain of _en pointe_ into a more vibrant dance. That night he let his body flow into a deeper backwards arc than he had ever done before. The warm hands on his calf had lifted his leg so high it seemed to stretch past vertical, and with the motion he had somehow felt more exposed than he ever had in his life, and at the same time wanted to feel more of his teacher’s hands guiding the rhythms of his body…

“Your obedient friend,” Madame Toothiana concludes, “and Angel.” Jack blinks his eyes a few times on hearing a woman’s voice where he had expected that of his Guardian. The room is silent, Madame Toothiana watching him, and clearly he is expected to give an answer. Jack takes a breath to speak, but does not know what he will say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, these Notes chapters are always so hard for me to write…
> 
> A couple people commented early on that they’re surprised at my characterization of Bunny in this work. Exchanges like this one between Jack and Bunny are why I chose him for the role. They’re clearly rivals in the film, as they are here, though I’m definitely leaning more heavily on Bunny’s jealous and angry side and less on his Hope side. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack protests his role in the emerging scheme. Next up: Chapter 20, “We Have All Been Blind / Twisted Every Way”.


	20. We Have All Been Blind / Twisted Every Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack protests his role in the emerging scheme.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I'm in a busy week at work, so I haven't been able to add to my buffer at all, and just now realized it'd been more than a week since the last update so I should just pull one out of the buffer anyway.

The echoes of Madame Toothiana’s voice fade away, and Jamie realizes that her eyes are turned to Jack’s, waiting for an answer to the Phantom’s… invitation? Threat? Jamie is confused. How could the woman serve as willing messenger after what she told him at the disrupted New Year’s party? Then he remembers her words that night: “There have been too many accidents.” Maybe Jack is not the only one being threatened by the ghost of the ballet. And then something clicks in Jamie’s head, and he raises his arm in a gesture towards Jack. 

“We have all been blind,” Jamie declares, breaking the silence with his words. All heads turn towards him. “And yet, the answer is staring us in the face.” Jamie slowly lowers his arm as he stares into space, thinking rapidly. “This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend!” 

As if coming up from a trance, Sandy shakes himself and waves Jamie to go on, while North blurts out, “We’re listening.” 

Pieces fall into place in Jamie’s mind. If they did _that_ , then what would happen is… And then if they… Aloud, he begins to explain. “We shall play his game, perform his work, but remember we hold the ace.” Ah, that’s the missing piece. Jamie whips his head around to his lover. “For, if Mister Frost dances, he is certain to attend.” 

North blurts out, catching on, “We make certain the doors are barred.” Sandy nods in agreement as North continues, “We make certain our men are there.” 

Right on his heels, Jamie adds, “We make certain they're armed. The curtain falls.” Jack takes two steps back, away from Jamie, fear in his eyes. 

And North, “His reign will end!” The three men triumphantly look at one another, grins on their faces. Jack turns and looks to the dance instructor in silent appeal. 

“Madness!” Madame Toothiana breaks the silence with her cry, stepping between Jack and the other men. Jack looks a bit faint as he turns his head between the group of determined men and his ballet instructor, and for a moment Jamie is worried Jack may run from the room. 

North grins and rubs his hands together. “Not if it works!” 

“This is madness!” she reiterates. 

“The tide will turn!” There is a predatory gleam in North’s eye, as though he wishes he could just pull out a couple sabers and fight someone. 

“Monsieur, believe me - there is no way of turning the tide!” 

“You stick to ballet!” North snorts at her and turns away. Sandy punches a fist into his palm. 

Jamie speaks up, remembering Toothiana’s disclosures about the Phantom’s past. “Then help us!” 

She blanches. “Monsieur, I can't.” 

He clenches his fist at his side in frustration. “Instead of warning us,” he begins, and North joins in with him on “Help us!” 

“I wish I could,” she says stepping backwards a pace, eyes glancing towards her sides as if looking for a way out that would not compromise Jack. 

“Don't make excuses,” North scoffs. 

With a flash of insight, Jamie asks her, “Or could it be that you're on his side?” A bit of movement out of the corner of his eye catches Jamie’s attention as Bunnymund startles at his words, apparently seeing something new himself. 

“Monsieur, believe me, I intend no ill,” Toothiana protests, holding her hands up placatingly at her sides. “But messieurs, be careful - we have seen him kill.” 

“He’s the one behind this,” Bunnymund finally blurts out. “Jack! This is all his doing!”

* * *

The voices descend into chaos around Jack, yelling at him, yelling at each other, and he feels adrift as he fails to follow any individual’s words. 

“This is his undoing!”

“This is the truth, Jack Frost!”

“If you succeed you free us all from this so-called ‘Guardian'!”

Jack tries to back away from the hubbub, taking first one tentative step backwards, then another. 

“Guardian of ballet, fear my fury!”

“Hear my warning! Fear his fury!”

Jack holds his hands to his ears and murmurs, “Please don't…” He feels claustrophobic, as though the walls or his fears are pressing in around him. His chest heaves with his rapid intakes of air. 

“What glory can he hope to gain? It's clear to all the man's insane!”

“If Jack won't, then no one can.”

Jack bends in to himself, as though trying to protect himself from the voices. “Stop it, stop it,” he grinds out through gritted teeth. Closing his eyes doesn’t help: although it blocks out the faces of his attackers, it doesn’t block out their words and all he can see is darkness. 

They continue, unhearing. “I beg you, do not do this!” 

“This will seal his fate!”

And finally he yells, “If you don’t stop, I'll go mad!” All the voices break off, and five heads turn towards Jack. He looks up at Jamie, trying to put all his fear into his face as he pleads with his lover. 

“Jamie, I’m frightened. Don't make me do this, Jamie, it scares me.” As he speaks images return to his mind: a darkened cavern, an ice-covered lake. “Don't put me through this ordeal by fire.” There were flames in the candelabra, but none were strong enough to cut the cold that Jack always felt in his bones, and felt even deeper in that darkness. “He'll take me, I know… We'll be parted for ever, he won't let me go.” He had been down in those caverns for what seemed an eternity. “What I once used to dream I now dread. If he finds me, it won't ever end.” They had danced together throughout the night, that beautiful dark man and himself. “And he'll always be there, dancing in my head.” Would that really be so bad? “He'll always be there, dancing in my head…” 

Jack is aware that Bunny says something, probably something disparaging, but it doesn’t cut through the music of that night echoing in his ears. Jamie is saying something too, and then Jack feels his cold hands grasped by warmer ones as he is guided into a chair. 

“You said yourself he was nothing but a man.” Jamie’s brown eyes are so warm on his, fire trying desperately to melt the ice in his soul. “Yet while he lives, he will haunt us till we're dead.” 

Jack takes a deep breath, trying to steady his breathing. Looking deep into his partner’s eyes, Jack tries to press upon him the feelings in his mind. 

“I feel… I’m twisted every way. What answer can I really give? You’re asking me to risk my life, my soul.” Jack presses Jamie’s hands in his. “But this seems the only way for me to win a chance to live.” He takes another quick breath, and releases one of Jamie’s hands to run his through his hair, and looks away, looks inward. “You’re asking me to betray the man who inspired my dance. You’re asking me to become his prey again.” Jack shudders at the thought. The Guardian – the Phantom – brought his dancing to a new level he would never have achieved with only Madame Toothiana’s instruction. 

With another breath, Jack continues. “You’re asking me to become his prey again, this time deliberately, and knowing what it is that I risk. But do I really have any choice? I know now that he kills without a thought, murdering all that’s good. I know I can’t refuse and yet, I wish I could…” Jack stops again, not knowing what to say. Jamie presses Jack’s hands again, and his eyes are drawn back to the hopeful ones before him, and his answer becomes inevitable. But still, he does not want to admit it. 

“Oh Moon,” Jack sighs out quietly. “If I agree, what horrors wait for me in this, the Phantom's ballet?” Jack feels his whole body wracked with a shiver, and he pulls his hands from Jamie’s to wrap them around himself. 

“Jack, Jack,” the man before him croons, comforting, pleading, now gripping Jack’s knees. “Don't think that I don't care, but every hope and every prayer rests on you now…” 

Jack feels the warm hands on his legs, but the heat does not seem to penetrate him. He cannot say yes, but he cannot say no. Jack casts a quick glance around the room, then stands and runs from the room wordlessly. As he runs down the hall, breath heaving in his lungs, he hears Jamie yelling behind him, challenging the Guardian.

“So, it is to be war between us! But this time, clever friend, the disaster… Will. Be. Yours!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some discrepancies in the lyrics of this scene between the Prince Albert Hall / 25th Anniversary version, and the CD of the 1986 version. I am more familiar with the CD version, so if there is a difference between the two and the anniversary version doesn’t substantively add anything to the scene, I tend to pick the 1986 CD version. 
> 
> I’ve sketched out the remainder of this work, and unless something unexpected happens, it will be exactly 30 chapters. \o/ I'm currently writing Chapter 27!
> 
> In both musical versions, the next scene is the “Don Juan” rehearsal. The anniversary version has Christine [Jack] present at this, however in the 1986 CD she is not (or at least doesn’t speak). IMO the rehearsal scene doesn’t do much to advance the plot, and without any of my main viewpoint characters present, I am skipping it. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack travels to visit a place dear to him. Next up, Chapter 21, “Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again”.


	21. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack travels to visit a place dear to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter I'd been looking forward to writing for a long time. Sorry for the delay, I'm traveling out of town on vacation and last week was a crunch at work.

The snow falls softly outside the Ballet Populaire as Jack waits for a hansom cab. He pulls the hood of his blue cloak down over his face as he waits and muses. So many things have happened to him in the past year, and Jack sometimes finds it hard to reconcile all of them. Which ones were reality, and which dreams – or even nightmares? Could he really have been drawn into a deep underground cavern where cages of lead hung from the ceiling? Could he have really danced his best ever upon a frozen pond, without the slightest trace of fear or memory of his sister’s death? How could he want so badly to feel his lover within him, while at the same time fearing the lightest touch of his lips? How could he want both of those while still fearing the other man’s reaction – and worse, while still wanting the other man as well? How could he wish for more even while wishing nothing had ever happened between them? How could just knowing a person bring him so much joy and so much confusion? 

A hansom pulls up before the ballet house. Jack brushes the snow off his hood and steps up into the carriage, and gives the driver his destination. As the white-covered streets pass by outside the window, Jack continues to think on Jamie, and their past together. Things were so much simpler when they were just children telling stories to each other, of Little Lotte who thought of everything and nothing. Or her mother telling them stories of the Guardian of Music: Jack himself, his sister, and sometimes Jamie as well. His mother promised that their lost loved ones could send the Guardian. His mother promised him…

The cab slows to a stop at the entrance to the cemetery, and the driver opens the trap door above Jack to inquire if he wishes them to continue on in with the cab. Jack thanks him for the offer, pays him and continues on foot. As the jingle of harness fades, the only sound remaining is the soft crunch of Jack’s blue felt boots upon the snow. Trying not to think, Jack winds his way along the snow-covered paths to a crypt bearing the name “Overland”. The structure is modest stone as the family had just barely enough money for this expense, and it is just a little taller than Jack himself. 

Jack swings open the door to look inside, and lowers the hood of his cloak as he steps into the shelter. There are four niches for their four family members. On the left top is the one with his father’s name and dates carved into the stone. Jack doesn’t have much memory of the man, as he died while his mother was still pregnant with his sister. Below it is his sister’s niche, and Jack’s tears begin flowing as he reads her names and dates. He turns away after a moment, looking to the right bottom at the niche reserved for him, the stone blank as he still lives. And then up at the space for his mother. 

His mother’s stone is no longer blank. It bears her name and a date in the previous year. Part of Jack wants to scream in rage and frustration, but more of Jack is just numb and cold. He last saw his mother before his sister’s death, before he ran away, and in some ways it is as if his mother died with his sister. In a daze, Jack steps back out of the small structure and into the snow, closing the door firmly behind him. 

He stands in the snow, not bothering to raise his hood again, chest heaving with suppressed emotion. As the large white flakes continue to fall silently, Jack begins to speak softly. 

“You were once my one companion, you were all that mattered. You were once a friend and sister then my world was shattered,” by his own stupid mistake, by their going out on the pond. His world was shattered as the ice was shattered. Oh MiM, Jack would do anything to have his sister back here, somehow near him. Sometimes it seemed Jack could just dream and somehow she would be here. Aloud, Jack goes on. “I wish I could hear your voice again, but I know I never will. Dreaming of you won't help me to do all that I dreamed I could…” 

Jack turns his eyes away from his sister’s resting place. He runs a hand through his hair, dislodging the snow that has begun settling there. As he looks through the graveyard, the bells on a nearby church begin ringing. He lets his eyes rest on some of the sculptures nearby: crosses, skulls, angels. The angels are beautiful, but too cold to be fitting companions for his sister, who had been so warm and full of life, such an opposite of himself today, always cold and keeping people he doesn’t already know at a distance. Jack blinks his eyes, fighting back the tears that gather in the corners and begin to freeze on his eyelashes. 

Bitterly he turns to his sister once more. “Do you know how long I’ve been fighting back these tears? Every single day! Why can't the past just die?” he finally sobs out. “Moon, I wish you were somehow here again. Maybe I should just try to say goodbye to you. Please…” his breath catches, “please try to forgive what I did. Teach me to live the life I took from you. Give me the strength to try.” Jack gasps in a breath, his chest heaving with his emotions. “I can’t give you any promises, but I just want to stop these silent tears. Help me to forget the memories, help me to stop gazing across the wasted years.” Jack falls to his knees in the snow, clasping his hands together. 

“Help me say goodbye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter (990 words), but hopefully a powerful one. 
> 
> I picture Jack's boots being like those the elves offer to him in the Guardian ceremony in the Workshop (in RotG): a bright blue felt or leather, tops rolled down slightly to reveal grey inside, pointy toes with a bell, and a silver embroidered "G" on the top of the foot. No reason for the "G" here of course, so maybe with a snowflake instead. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jamie follows Jack to the cemetery, where Jack has a visit from his Guardian of Music. Next up: Chapter 22 “Wandering Child / Bravo, Monsieur!”


	22. Wandering Child / Bravo, Monsieur!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie follows Jack to the cemetery, where Jack has a visit from his Guardian of Music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry updates are currently weekly, I'm [driving the Crack Van](http://crack-van.livejournal.com/tag/rise%20of%20the%20guardians) (fanfic recommendation community on LJ) and that's taking some of my fanfic mental energy right now. My buffer's getting low right now, classes will be resuming at the end of the month for me, and I've a lot of work to do before then, so I'm just hoping I don't get too derailed before then. 
> 
> This chap's a bit longer than the last, hopefully it makes up for it. :)

Jamie attends the first rehearsal of “Don Juan,” eager to see if Jack has reconciled himself to the plan. Disappointingly, but unsurprisingly, he is not there, so Jamie goes to his rooms. With no response to his knocks, Jamie unlocks the door with his key and sees that Jack has taken his cloak and boots, so he must have left the theater. There is no indication of how long ago Jack left, so Jamie sighs and decides to return to watch the rehearsal. On the way, he runs into Sandy. 

The smaller man cocks his head quizzically at Jamie, and when Jamie looks at him, he makes a frown and points a finger at it. 

“Oh, I was just looking for Jack, to see if he was participating in rehearsals, but he seems to have left for somewhere.” Sandy’s face lights up, and he tugs on Jamie’s sleeve. “You’ve seen him?” Sandy nods enthusiastically, and begins pulling Jamie after him. “Recently? We have to hurry?” Sandy keeps nodding without turning around, and rushes to the main entrance to the theater, opening out to a major street. 

Just as Jamie steps out of the theater he sees a blue cloak be pulled into the closing door of a hansom cab, and he runs after it, but the cab pulls away before he can get close. Sandy however has just flagged down another cab and is holding the door open for Jamie, who hops into it and tells the driver to follow Jack’s cab, but at a distance. Jamie waves a thank-you to Sandy as his vehicle pulls away from the theater, and Sandy tips an imaginary hat back at him.

* * *

“Help me say goodbye,” Jack whispers again, then collapses in a heap in the snow, his body shaking uncontrollably with his sobs. The snow falls softly all around him. With all his might, Jack wishes he could forget his sister, forget his loss. And with all his might Jack wants that never to happen, wishes instead that his sister really had sent the Guardian of Music to guide him. As he sobs, Jack recalls the sound of his mother, now dead as well, playing the violin. Maybe the two of them together, in Heaven now with the Moon, will be able to together send him a guide. He listens more closely, and imagines he does hear some music, and a soft melodic voice, smooth, hypnotizing. 

“Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance…” The voice is smooth; it caresses him. It cannot be real. And yet, if it is… Jack cannot reject it. 

“Guardian or sister, friend or Phantom,” Jack whispers softly, not daring to hope. “Who is it there, staring?” 

Slightly louder but still enticing, the voice continues, “Have you forgotten your Angel? I thought this might happen.” 

Still not daring to turn and look for the source, Jack questions, slightly more strongly. “Angel, oh, speak. What endless longings echo in this whisper?” 

“Too long you've wandered in winter,” the voice replies. “Far from my far-reaching gaze. They never really believed in you, they just wanted to use you…”

Jack can feel his face crumple, somewhere between denial and stubbornness. 

“But I believe in you,” the silky voice continues, “I was just trying to show you that.” 

Jack puts one hand over an ear to block out what he hears, and murmurs to himself, “you don’t understand anything.” But he leaves his other ear uncovered, and listens. 

The voice chuckles, and now Jack can tell a direction for it, and slowly stands as it continues to speak. Jack can hear a man’s breathing, and his Guardian continues softly, “Oh, I don’t know what it’s like to be cast out into the cold?” Jack turns towards the voice. “To not be believed in? To long for a family?” A dark form steps out from behind the crypt: tall and lean, a patch of blackness obscured by falling snow. “All those years in the shadows I thought no one else knows what this feels like.” The voice is a caress in Jack’s mind, soothing his fears. “You have shown me I was wrong. You don’t have to be alone, Jack. I believe in you.” 

“In me?...” Jack whispers softly. 

“Yes,” the shadow replies. “You have seen what we can do together. What goes together better than cold and dark? We can make them believe…” The truth of the words rings through Jack’s soul. This man clearly is darkness and music, merged together and made flesh. And Jack is the cold: everyone else always feels warm to him; he always tries to keep others at a distance (but wait, that’s not true, part of him thinks, there’s one man…); Jack’s dance is elegant and beautiful like this winter day. But there is still something not quite right to the words he hears, and he turns away to try and clear his head.

* * *

As Jamie alights at the cemetery, he can see another set of footprints where Jack left his own hansom cab before them. Jamie pays the driver, tipping him generously as he can afford it, and begins to trek into the graveyard on foot. He isn’t really wearing the right shoes for a walk in the snow, but finding Jack is more important now, he knows this is the cemetery with the Overland family grave, and he worries about Jack’s state of mind. 

He follows the footprints quickly enough that the freshly falling snow does not further obscure them, but he slows as he hears voices. The falling snow muffles his footsteps as he creeps closer, keeping a large stone crypt between himself and the speakers. He listens to Jack’s voice, soft and almost in a trance, and a gentle captivating voice replying, soothing Jack’s fears. Jamie leans hard against the stone and closes his eyes in pain. He knows what is happening again. Once again Jack is his, once again he returns. Jamie feels his body beginning to sink to the ground in defeat. He’s fought so hard, and yet Jack keeps going back to him.

* * *

Something is not quite right. Jack murmurs aloud, “Wildly my mind beats against you…” 

The Phantom concurs, his voice strengthening in resolve, “You resist…”

And then it bursts out of Jack uncontrollably, “yet my soul obeys!”

* * *

The pain in Jamie’s chest is so great, he is sure his heart is breaking, then he catches another snatch of the words from the enraptured pair, and his eyes fly open at what he hears. Jack is still resisting, the Phantom has not yet won! Jack is fighting to break free, yet by himself he is losing the fight. 

Jamie steps out from behind the stone that has been shielding him from view until now. He sees the Phantom, a mass of writhing shadows standing beside an open crypt. A few feet of fresh white snow separate him from Jack, whose back is turned to the Phantom, still defying him in this one tiny way. Jack is covered with snow, as though his body temperature is not high enough to melt it. The Phantom has no snow upon him at all, the living darkness around him constantly in motion. Jamie calls out into the space between them, challenging, “Angel or demon!” But the two before him ignore his words, the Phantom still calling Jack, luring him towards the grave. 

Jack tips his head backwards, staring up at the sky, and rapturously calls out “Angel of Ballet, I denied you, turning from true beauty.” 

Jamie can make out a grin on the Phantom’s grey lips as he calls back “Do not shun me, come to your strange Angel!” At these words, Jack whirls around to face the Phantom, and Jamie’s heart drops into his stomach at the way his lover’s face lights up. 

The words are ripped from Jamie’s lips before he can stop them, turning between Jack and the Phantom. “Angel of Ballet or dark seducer, who are you strange Angel?” There is no way the Phantom could fail to be aware of his presence now, but the dark man continues to focus on Jack. 

Soft words trickle from the Nightmare King’s lips. “I am your Guardian of Ballet.” Jack takes a step towards him. “Come to me: Angel of Ballet…"

Jamie takes two steps towards them, but stops before going any further, fearing Jack’s reaction should he touch him now. Instead he calls out, “Guardian of Darkness, cease this torment!” 

But the other simply repeats his words to Jack, more softly this time as Jack is closer, and moving closer still. Jamie sees the shadows around the man moving, some of them appearing like clouds of mist or blowing sand, others appearing to have a more solid form. 

Jamie turns his focus towards Jack instead, breath coming more quickly. “Jack. Jack listen to me! Whatever you may believe, this man, this _thing_ was not sent by your sister!” Jack does not respond, takes another step towards the shadows writhing around the other man. Are those eyes among the wisps? “Let him go!” Jamie yells at the king of the shadows. “For MiM's sake, let him go!” He turns back to his lover once more, tears of fear and frustration in his eyes, “Jack!” Finally Jamie takes the last step towards Jack and grabs him by a shoulder. 

Jack shudders as if broken out of a trance. He blinks a few times and then wonderingly says “Oh, Jamie!” and burrows into his embrace. Jamie puts both his arms around Jack protectively; his whole body feels cold. For a moment Jamie indulges himself and buries his face in Jack’s white hair, brushing the matching white snow off of it. Then he realizes black wisps of something are beginning to swirl around them, and he turns to face the Phantom. 

“Bravo, monsieur!” the rich voice calls out mockingly. “Such spirited words!” More of the dark sand, if that’s what it is, is flowing from the Phantom towards their entwined bodies. Jamie gently pushes Jack slightly away from himself, and watches as the flows first split to wrap around the both of them, then turn and focus on himself. 

Looking up at the Ballet Ghost, Jamie asks, “More tricks, monsieur?” 

“Let's see, monsieur,” he replies, “how far you dare go!” Another tendril moves towards them, snaking between Jack and Jamie, and Jamie takes a deliberate step away from Jack to lure it away from him, to keep him safe. 

“More deception? More violence?” Jamie looks up at the Phantom, and takes another step towards him, letting go of Jack and clenching his fists. 

From behind himself, he hears Jack call, “Jamie, no!” But Jamie ignores him. The only way to protect him is to end this once and for all. 

“That's right, that's right monsieur, keep walking this way!” 

The blackness swirls around Jamie, then begins to thin in the direction between himself and the Phantom. “You can't win his love by making him your prisoner!” Jamie takes another step into the clear area. 

“Jamie, don't,” comes from behind him, and he spares Jack a glance to see that he is trying to struggle through the black wall now separating him from the smaller man. 

“Stay back!” Jamie calls back at him. He flings out an arm towards Jack, as though the gesture could ward him away. 

“I'm here, I'm here, monsieur: the Guardian of Death!” The voice calls to Jamie, even as he sees more of the blackness swirling around him and his rival, enclosing the two of them into a private space with Jack on the outside. “Come on, come on, monsieur,” the Phantom taunts further, “Don't stop, don't stop!” Just a couple more steps to the dark man, and then Jamie will have him all to himself…

Suddenly Jamie feels a cold hand in his, pulling him backwards and away, and in his ear Jack yells “Jamie, come back!” Jamie shakes his head suddenly, and realizes what has been going on. He is mere steps from the Phantom, and the black sand circulates around them chaotically. There is no way Jamie could fight that. With the Nightmare King’s powers fully revealed here, Jamie would stand no chance. He grabs Jack’s hand and turns away. 

When the usually smooth voice frantically calls out behind him, “Don’t go!” this only spurs Jamie on faster. As he and Jack run from the graveyard, hand in hand, they hear the voice behind them. 

“So be it! Now let it be war upon you _both_!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter drew inspiration from not only the cemetery scene from PotO (as depicted in the 1986 musical, not the 25th anniversary), but also from the Antarctica scene from RotG – I set up the snow in the last chapter to make this one fit. Hope their amalgamation wasn’t too jarring. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jamie and the owners set up the trap, and the new ballet begins. Next up, Chapter 23: Music from “Don Juan Triumphant”.


	23. Music from Don Juan Triumphant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie and the owners set up the trap, and the new ballet begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah! This's the last chapter in my buffer! I'm halfway thru writing the next chapter, and I have the rest plotted out, so I'll attempt to catch up to them, but there may be delays what with the semester starting soon.

Jamie and Jack stand in the dressing room, more brightly lit than Jamie could ever remember it. It is just a few hours before the opening performance of “Don Juan Triumphant”, and Jack still wears street clothes as he holds Jamie close to him, rumpling his most formal tux. Jamie grasps Jack’s shoulders as gently as he can, and takes a slow breath. Letting it out, he coaxes, “Jack, you know you have to do this,” but Jack only clutches him tighter. “Jack?” he asks softly. 

Jack looks up at him, his blue eyes watery. “Jamie, I’m scared…” 

Jamie searches Jack’s eyes. “It’s just bad dreams, that’s all his power is. I’ll protect you.” 

Hard on the heels of Jamie’s words, the shadow of a hand is cast on the floor, but there is no source for the shadow. It reaches up the wall before Jamie’s shocked eyes, behind Jack’s back, and upon reaching the first gas light, snuffs it out and shatters the glass. Jack jumps at the sound, making a small shriek, and whirls to face the nightmare hand. 

A voice fills the room. “Aw, you’ll protect him?” The hand travels along the wall to the next sconce, and more glass shatters, leaving the room darker than before. “But who will protect you?” 

Jamie feels a squirming in his arms, and as he turns to look at Jack, the smaller man pulls entirely away from his grip and runs from the room. “Jack!” he starts to yell, and trails off as he realizes he is gone, as is the threatening shadow. With a sigh, Jamie decides to join the owners in preparing the theater.

* * *

Jamie, North, and Sandy have been preparing the theater for the past few hours, working no less hard than any of the performers in the ballet about to begin. As the patrons wait in the foyer to be let into the theater proper, Jamie watches the police chief give his men their last few instructions, and he sees North arguing with Sandy. He cannot make out the smaller man’s words, if any, but he appears to be questioning the wisdom of their actions. Jamie frowns; nothing can be allowed to stand in the way of stopping the Phantom. Before he can intervene though, he hears North snort and reply rhetorically, “Have you got better idea?” and then he is distracted from his eavesdropping by the chief walking up to him. 

“Monsieur le Vicomte,” the chief asks. “Shall I give the order?” 

With a stern voice, Jamie agrees, “Give the order,” and immediately turns away to continue scanning the theater. For a moment Jamie wonders what the audience waiting outside will think of the armed police scattered throughout the theater and concentrated near the doors, then he looks back up at Box 5. Calculating a line of sight, he looks back at the marksman stationed with the orchestra. “You in the pit, do you have a clear view of the box?”

“Yes, sir,” is the quick reply. 

“Remember,” Jamie admonishes yet again, “when the time comes, shoot. Only if you have to - but shoot to kill.” 

“How will I know, sir?” comes the reply.

Jamie looks back at the idiot of a man. This was supposed to be the best marksman of the police force? “You'll know.”

North walks up to him again, wringing his large hands. “Monsieur le Vicomte, are you confident that this will work? Will Mister Frost dance?” 

His worries are not entirely unfounded, Jamie admits to himself, but aloud he says only “Don’t worry North. Sandy?” 

Sandy nods and spreads his open hands at his sides. 

“My men are now in position, sir,” the chief announces coming up to Jamie. 

“Go ahead, then.” 

The police chief calls out to his men, “Are the doors secure?” And one by one the officers stationed by doors call back “Secure!” 

As the bangs of the last door shutting echo throughout the theater, the gas lamps begin to dim. Jamie looks up startled, the audience hasn’t yet been let into the theater, and besides the plan was to keep them lit to facilitate the police being able to see the Phantom. Then as the lamps flicker irregularly, Jamie realizes the Phantom himself is the cause of the dimming, and a smooth voice calls from the catwalks above the stage, “I’m here, the Phantom of the Ballet…” Jamie cranes his neck above him and sees only shifting shadows in the walkways. 

Another voice, this time from the orchestral pit, on the opposite side of the marksman. “I’m here, the Phantom of the Ballet…” A rich chuckle immediately follows the voice, the location of which now appears to be behind each of the police officers. “You think a few _children_ can help you? Against this?” A wave of darkness surges from the corners of the room, but then subsides before Jamie can be sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light. But he knows, he knows… He does believe, and he is afraid. 

A shot rings out. Jamie’s head whips around to the source, the words leaving his lips before his eyes even focus on the marksman. “You fool, I said only when the times comes!” 

“But, Monsieur le Vicomte–” the man begins in protest. 

“No ‘buts’,” Jamie admonishes, then realizes another voice has said the same words along with him. Jamie trails off but the Phantom continues, the voice coming from first Box 5, then Box 3, then other boxes. “For once, Monsieur le Vicomte is right.” The voice now seems to echo throughout the theater. “Seal my fate tonight. I hate to have to cut the fun short but the joke's wearing thin.” Jamie determinedly searches the corners of the theater with his eyes, but sees only roiling masses of darkness. “Let the audience in… Let my ballet begin!” At these words the shadows retreat, leaving the theater as bright as it was before the Phantom made his presence known.

* * *

Jamie sits not in Box 5 this time, but the first row of orchestra seating, the two owners to either side of him. He does not want to be in the way of the line of fire, and he wants to be close to the stage should he need to intervene on Jack’s behalf. As they approach the climax scene, the _corps de ballet_ take the stage, which is set as though for a feast. The dancers wear rich clothes, and interact with the food on the table, acting out eating, drinking, and flirting with each other. 

Bunnymund enters from stage left, wearing dark blue pants that hug the muscles on his hips and thighs and flare at the ankles, and a sheer button down shirt, the top two buttons open to expose his upper chest and the edges of his pectoral muscles. A few wisps of hair stick out from the opening, and the translucent fabric does nothing to hide the outline of the strong muscles under the shirt. Bunnymund is followed closely by Baby Tooth, who wears a black cloak over the leggings and jacket of a serving man of a higher status than the others currently onstage. Her wig hides the long hair that would otherwise be spilling down her back, allowing Baby to make a convincing man. The principal dancer bows slightly to the other and she returns it, and they begin a short _pas de deux_. 

In their dance, at first Baby Tooth struts around the stage, taking large confident strides and swirling the dark cloak about herself, while Bunnymund rises to _en pointe_ and takes the most delicate steps Jamie has ever seen him execute. As he lowers himself to a normal stance once more, Baby swirls the cloak off her shoulders and fastens it around Bunnymund’s. He holds on to the edge of the cape and with a dramatic twitch, hides most of himself within its folds, and then takes two of his normally bold steps to cross the stage. Now the other dancer rises up onto her toes and with tiny steps quickly follows Bunnymund down stage and then clasps his arm, seeming to lean fawningly into him. 

Confused at the action on the stage, Jamie realizes he should have paid closer attention at the rehearsals he watched so that he would know the plot better. As he didn’t though, Jamie now opens up the program and turns to the summary. Act I, Act II, Scene… Ah, there it is. Don Juan and his faithful friend and manservant Passarino make preparations to trick the young Aminto, during which the two swap places. 

As Jamie looks back up at the action on the stage, the two dancers now are laughing together, presumably at the expense of the ingénue about to be deceived. Something clicks in Jamie’s head, and he can feel the blood drain from his face. Knowing how things are about to play out – the Phantom’s plan is so obvious, it’s even in the program! – Jamie rises from his seat intending to push past North to the aisle to stop the show. 

“Vat are you…?” North begins to ask him, then apparently realizing Jamie’s intent he whispers loudly, “No, sit back down! He not here yet!” North puts his hands against Jamie’s chest to stop him, even as Sandy reaches over from the other side and grabs at his pants legs. North manages to manhandle Jamie back into his seat, Sandy hovering over his other side making shushing gestures all the while. “Look,” North orders Jamie, “he not here, do you see him?” Jamie finally stops and looks around, then reluctantly shakes his head that no, he doesn’t see the Phantom anywhere, and settles back into his seat. 

On the stage, Bunnymund flips the hood of the collar over his head, pulls the sleeves down over his hands, and moves upstage to hide behind a fake door. Baby Tooth straps a sword to her waist and stands by the door. They share a conspiratorial wink and leer as Jack enters from stage left, then Bunnymund ducks out the door upstage while Baby exits stage right. 

Jack wears a variation on his peasant outfit from a previous show: light brown leggings, a ruffled linen shirt with frills at the collar and the hems of his sleeves, and a dark brown half-cloak over his shoulders. Jack – Aminto – dances a playful step towards center stage where he examines the remains of the feast, and as he does so Don Juan reenters the stage through the fake door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my inspiration came from the final fight scenes in RotG, when the depowered Guardians first try to protect Jamie in the alley, and then when they recruit the children to help the fight. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack performs in the climax scene of “Don Juan”. Next up: Chapter 24, “Past the Point of No Return”!


	24. The Point of No Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack performs in the climax scene of “Don Juan”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had writer's block on this chapter forever, but today I managed to bang out a total of three chapters, starting by finishing off this one, so here it is!

Immersed in the Aminto role, Jack takes small hesitant steps, high on the balls of his feet, to the table in the center of the stage, where he begins to examine the leftovers from the feast. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bunnymund – Don Juan – enter the stage from the false door. The cloak completely covers his head and face, actually hanging down low to his chin, but Jack – Aminto – knows from rehearsals that the principal dancer can see perfectly well through it, and he demonstrates so now as he takes confident steps towards the front of the stage. Each step is slow, deliberately placing the ball and toe of the foot first, followed by the heel, in a step that emphasizes the line of his thigh from knee to hip or groin, teasing the audience with his motions. 

Don Juan pauses at the front of the stage, as Aminto polishes an apple and pretends not to watch, and for a moment the orchestra remains silent. He poses for his audience, both the literal one in the theater and Aminto, hips cocked to the side, arms akimbo on his waist. His dark blue pants hug the trim muscles on his thighs, and he runs his hands down them to draw all eyes to them, then bringing both arms up into the air he cocks his hips in the other direction, the motion undulating throughout his torso up to his arms and down through his legs. Don Juan’s raised arms bring attention to his chest, where the buttons of his dark blue translucent shirt are opened down to his navel, revealing his hairless and toned pectoral and abdominal muscles – Jack realizes Bunnymund must have shaved his chest for this role as he usually has more chest hair than that. The hood covers his face and shoulders, hanging behind his back, but does nothing to impede his movements. A small gold charm peeks out from under the bottom of the hood, hanging around his neck. 

The audience is spellbound, and not a single breath can be heard in the silent theater. This is not the usual form of dance shown in the Populaire, these motions are not traditional ballet, and at first the watchers are uncertain what to think. When the music begins softly and Don Juan takes a few languorous steps, with each one twitching his hips and waist, the audience seems to breathe out a collective sigh. While this is not the music and dance that was expected, enough of the more sophisticated are familiar with the rumba from the New World that they are able to put this dance into a known context. 

As Don Juan moves, Jack continues to mime Aminto’s pretended indifference, conspicuously stealing glances at Don Juan’s form out of the corner of his eye. Jack is impressed at Bunnymund’s movement. It appears the principal dancer’s work has really come together for this opening performance, finally getting past his sullenness at the style of dance and instead throwing himself into the seductive quality not possessed by traditional ballet. This is the first time that Jack has performed onstage with the more experienced dancer, and he had held reservations that the man would not be able to share the stage with him. But Jack is surprised at the fluidity of his movements, not to mention the way that Jack’s pulse begins to quicken before he has even begun to dance himself. Bringing his attention back to the story, Jack – Aminto – tosses his head as Don Juan approaches and steals his apple, and then Aminto moves away to seat himself at the banquet table. 

Don Juan follows across the stage to where Aminto sits. His strides have a rhythm of their own, feet stepping with the music, but twists of the waist and hips adding additional beats to his body, his hands alternating between floating in the air and stroking across his own stomach, drawing the eye between the exposed skin of his chest, and the decently covered thigh muscles. As Don Juan returns from stage right to stride towards the table, Aminto finally deigns to take notice of him. Don Juan seats himself astride a backwards chair placed a little distance from the table, spreading his legs wide to straddle around the chair back, back to the audience, and as he does so Aminto rises from his seat. 

The smaller lithe man takes three slow steps away from the table, arms swinging lightly at his sides. Aminto’s steps are as large as were Don Juan’s, but on his smaller frame they seem delicate at first, emphasizing less his raw sexuality but more his frailty. On the third step, he whips his left arm as he spins towards his right to face his would-be suitor. He takes three more steps away from Don Juan and towards the audience, backwards now, then turns again and faces off the front of the stage. Pausing there, Aminto slides his right palm up his side from thigh to waist, then raises it into the air. In the broad movements typical of rumba, he then drags his other hand across his upper chest while twisting his shoulders with the movement and his hips in the direction opposite his shoulders. His arms then whip back into the air, left leg spreading out to his side and his right knee bending slightly. Sliding his left hand languorously back down his right arm, Aminto sweeps his left leg behind him and then pivots to face Don Juan. 

Aminto travels back towards the table in pairs of steps: move hip with left leg, right foot and pause and rise up to his toes, repeat while stroking his own legs with his palms. As he approaches the table, Aminto reaches his hand out towards the seated Don Juan and hovers his fingers a scant inch above his cloak-enshrouded head. As he does so, Don Juan turns his head upwards and into his fingers as though just becoming aware of their enticing presence. There is enough space between the table and the chair that Aminto can circle it, and he does so, continuing the off-beat steps with hip movements, his hand continuing to hover above the other man’s head. When the hand moves slightly back from the head, the head cranes up towards the hand, like a flower seeking light. 

Halfway through his circuit, the covered face turns towards the standing man, and the seated man rises as Aminto lowers his hand around the face to cup it. As he rises, Don Juan lifts his right leg out to the side, toes pointed, and as Aminto circles back around the chair in the other direction Don Juan leans his torso in towards him and pivots on his other foot to keep their faces close. Something about this gesture makes Jack’s breath catch, the way that the other dancer’s movements are so focused upon him in a way that they had not been able to achieve in rehearsal. 

Facing him, Don Juan clasps his hands around Aminto’s waist, and the two men step sideways together. Long off-beat strides carry them towards the front of the stage, where they stop and Don Juan takes one step back. He raises a hand to Aminto’s face, bringing it up to an inch away from his skin. Jack feels goosebumps raise on his flesh where the hand does not touch, and as it follows the contours of his body, down his neck and shoulder to his arm and then waist, Jack can feel his skin prickle along the whole path. When the hand reaches his thigh it brushes briefly against his leggings and for a moment Jack feels dizzy, but then it moves back upwards again. The hand comes to rest on Jack’s waist and is joined on the other side by another hand. They grip and Jack feels a gentle push guide him to begin his spin. 

In the middle of each turn, Jack feels the hands grip slightly to give him another push, and an answering tightening in his groin takes him by surprise and he loses his focus, forgetting to spot in his turns. Jack has a moment where his head spins, when he belatedly recognizes how his body is reacting to this Don Juan. This shouldn’t be happening, he can’t deal with it. He already has enough problems as is, between Jamie and… His mind shies away from the other man’s appellation. And besides, this is _Bunnymund_ , it’s Bunnymund… 

And at just that moment, Don Juan stops Jack’s turn while he is facing away, one of his hands trailing down from Jack’s waist to his leg, lifting it high into the air, and Jack can recall only one other time when he managed to stretch his leg into a completely vertical split as he does now. And that time was not in rehearsal with Bunnymund, not under the bright lights of the new chandelier that shine down upon them now, not under the watchful eyes of an audience, and certainly not knowing that one pair of brown eyes in particular must be watching avidly, knowing that they must be filled with concern despite Jack being unable to find those warm eyes in the glare of the stage lights. One of Don Juan’s hands cups around Jack’s face as he leans back into the taller man’s chest, and Jack can feel the compact muscles where he expected large ones, and then he is spun within the taller man’s grip and his leg lowered once more. No longer in denial about what his senses are telling him, heart pounding at the same rate as an answering pulse within his dance belt, Jack runs his hands up the other man’s arms as the choreography dictates, but as he does so he discretely slips his hands beneath the cowl covering Don Juan’s face. With a sudden motion, Jack flips the cowl back over his head, revealing a long face with an aquiline nose, and golden eyes that gleam in the light of the chandelier. This is the first time Jack has seen his skin in such bright light, and for a moment he is confused at the warm healthy glow of it, but then it penetrates that he has unmasked the Phantom on the stage in the place of Bunnymund. 

With a gasp, Jack jerks away; in the end he had known what he would see, he had known all along there was something different, something _more_ to Don Juan’s dancing than Bunnymund could have achieved, there was no way this could be anything but a trap of the Phantom’s making, yet still he is shocked to see it. He hears the Phantom move behind him as well, the quick steps retreating towards the edge of the stage and then abruptly stopping, and Jack turns to see that Jamie stands at the edge of the shadows in the wings. He is right at the line between the bright light of the stage and the darkness beyond, so that the Phantom cannot make a retreat through the shadows there. 

Jack decides to run to Jamie, but even as he does so, the Phantom turns to him once more and he sees that he has no clear path. The Phantom takes a step towards Jack, and as he does so the dark man reaches towards his own collar where a gleaming golden pendant hangs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this chapter took me so long, I just kept having writer’s block on the dance - it's almost 2,000 words, maybe that's part of the issue? :-P I put a lot of pressure on myself to do it right, because I wanted to make sure that the emotion/connection between Jack and the Phantom was obvious to the reader even when Jack didn’t yet realize it was the Phantom (I hope I wasn’t too heavy-handed). Plus I know even less about rumba than I do about ballet, but… In the end, despite my difficulties writing this chapter, I’m quite happy with how it ended up. 
> 
> As for why rumba, in seeking inspiration for the dance in this scene, I remembered the film “Dirty Dancing” and [the final dance](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9BbUqHrWFI). A bit of hunting revealed that the film used the mambo, which didn’t exist in the time period this work is set, and further digging revealed that the rumba was a predecessor which fits this time period, though not location (again). I guess this universe has a vibrant internationally cooperative dance community? In the end the dance movements of the Phantom as Don Juan were based on male Russian Latin dancer Slavik Kryklyvyy ([dance 1](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aPJVWw_OGg0), [dance 2](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGMfAWf__K8)), while those of Jack as Aminto were based on female Russian Latin dancer Anna Firstova ([dance 1](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=La33xkNnRmY), [dance 2](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AjLXgkLM9Fk)), as well as those of Kryklyvyy’s partners (Karina Smirnoff and Elena Khvorova) in his videos. Who’d’ve thunk Russians would dominate Latin dancing? 
> 
> In the next chapter, now that Jack has revealed the Phantom, the Phantom professes his love for Jack before the entire audience. Next up, Chapter 25, “All I Ask of You (Reprise)”


	25. All I Ask of You (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Jack has revealed the Phantom, the Phantom professes his love for Jack before the entire audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for comments folks, they help keep me writing. ☺

The Phantom’s arms are spread wide as he steps towards Jack, something shiny dangling from his right hand. Jack’s face is frozen and impassive as the larger man approaches. Jamie watches from the side of the stage, still standing half in the shadows and half out of them. He has no pistol, but he is ready to grab the Phantom bodily should he move towards him. Now however, the dark menace moves away from Jamie and towards his beloved Jack, his head turned towards him. Though Jamie sees only the back of the Phantom’s head, he imagines that the man’s eyes bore into Jack’s. 

The Phantom’s voice is soft but resonant as he says to Jack, “Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime.” The words are familiar to Jamie, and his skin begins to crawl. “Lead me, save me from my solitude.” No, it can’t be, the words… “Say you want me with you, here beside you.” The words are not the same as what Jamie said to Jack on the rooftop the night of the disaster, but they echo it, they have the same rhythm. The Phantom can’t have overheard them. And yet, there was that third call of Jack’s name, which Jamie had brushed off as their imagination. 

A motion of the Phantom’s arms draws Jamie’s attention, for a moment he wishes he did have a pistol, then he sees that the dark man is holding a necklace with an open clasp between his two hands as he continues to approach Jack. The Phantom takes a deep breath, tension in the line of his back, and says in a tone that carries throughout the theater, “Anywhere you go let me go too!” Now within arm’s reach of Jack, he then reaches forward and clasps the necklace around the smaller man’s ivory neck, and Jack’s arms rise to hold the Phantom’s upper arms. Jamie’s insides churn at the sight of Jack’s grip, and he thinks he’s about to be sick to his stomach. “Jack,” the Phantom continues, “that’s all I ask—” 

There is a quick motion that Jamie cannot quite catch, and then he realizes that Jack’s hands are on the Phantom’s face, and shadows writhe where the skin of Jack’s palms meet the skin of the Nightmare King’s cheeks. Then the darkness retreats from Jack’s hands, seeming to be sucked right into the flesh of the Phantom, revealing the gray skin of his visage, and as Jamie watches the color bleeds from the rest of the exposed skin on his neck, chest, and hands, leaving nothing but gray. A scream of rage or agony is torn from the Phantom’s throat, and he grabs Jack’s hands and wrenches them away from his face. 

A shot rings out, and Jamie curses and whips his head towards the marksman in the orchestral pit – Jack was so close to the Phantom, the bullet could have easily hit him instead – and yells “Don’t shoot!” Jamie takes a step forwards from the edge of the large stage towards where Jack struggles to free himself from the larger man’s strong grip. “Hurry man,” he yells to the officer now entering the opposite side of the stage. Turning his gaze back to his targets, he sees that the Phantom has dragged Jack towards the back of the stage where there is less light, then suddenly a dark cloud rises up from the shadows and surrounds them both, concealing their forms. It quickly dissipates leaving the upper stage empty except for a limp form hanging from a rope. 

Baby Tooth’s scream echoes sharply throughout the theater as the body swings. Madame Toothiana hurries onto the stage at her daughter’s cry. As she approaches, she calls out “What is it? What has happened?” She stops suddenly though when she sees the body. “Aster!” she gasps. 

The audience is in turmoil. Jamie can hear North in the front row, crying out to MiM about how they’ve been ruined, but Jamie just stands stunned in the middle of the stage while the dancers swirl around him. All his plans to stop the Phantom thwarted, and now Jack is gone too. Jamie is barely aware of the dance instructor coming up to him. “Monsieur le Vicomte! Come with me!” His ears are filled with screams. He sees again the way Jack was frozen while the Phantom put the necklace on him where once Jamie’s own signet ring hung. He sees again the way that Jack danced with the Phantom, leaning into his chest while the stronger man’s hands roamed freely over his legs, his thighs…

“Monsieur le Vicomte, I know where they are.” 

Jamie blinks, realizing that Madame Toothiana is talking to him and tugging on his arm, trying to pull him to follow her. “But can I trust you?” he asks hollowly. If the Nightmare King would go so far as to kill principal dancer Bunnymund, there is nothing that he would not do. Any hope left within Jamie has now died, leaving behind only fear. 

“You must,” she assures him. “But remember: your hand at the level of your eyes!” With this she gestures, holding the arm not tugging on his sleeve up alongside her head. 

Jamie is in daze. “But why?” No magical gestures or incantations would help. The Phantom might – clearly does – have powers like that, but he doesn’t. 

Toothiana appears baffled. “Why? The Punjab lasso, monsieur. First Sophie. Now Aster.” 

Baby Tooth steps up and manipulates his free arm. “Like this, monsieur! I'll come with you.” 

“No, Baby! No, you stay here!” The dance instructor pushes her daughter away, and some of the other dancers come up to help restrain her. Toothiana turns back to Jamie. “Come with me, monsieur. Hurry, or we shall be too late!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who knew I was gonna kill Bunny, and for how long? :-P I don’t actually dislike Bunny, it’s just the story demanded it… I've known since at least Chapter 12 (Prima Donna) that this would happen. Sorry / not sorry! I actually put in lots of references to hope throughout the story to pay homage to the better side of Bunny which I’m not showing at all in this work. 
> 
> My fall semester is just starting. I’m trying to bang out the last few chapters into a buffer so I don’t slow up my updates right as we get to the good stuff (my goal is to post new chapters 2-7 days apart), but I can’t promise. School comes first. :-\ 
> 
> In the next chapter, as the Phantom brings Jack down into his lair again, Jamie begins the hunt for him. Next up: Chapter 26, “Down Once More / Track Down This Murderer”


	26. Down Once More / Track Down This Murderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Phantom brings Jack down into his lair again, Jamie begins the hunt for him.

Even while fighting to escape the Phantom’s tugs down the darkened passage alongside the cold underground stream, Jack wonders about the necklace that has been placed about his neck against his will. The Phantom is talking aloud about the blackness that they are descending into, and Jack just knows that if he listens, he will start screaming, so he concentrates on the necklace. It feels warm against his skin in a way that Jamie’s signet ring, stolen from him by the Phantom, never had – the ring adjusted to the ambient temperature of a room and to Jack’s cooler than normal skin temperature. This pendant brings a flush to his skin even after many minutes. Jack has one hand free, and in a moment when the Guardian is not watching, he reaches up to feel at the charm. It is a locket, and he can feel the little groove where a fingernail could open it. 

He yanks his hand back down hurriedly as the Phantom turns to him once more. “This path leads to a dark dungeon of despair. But then, you must be used to that by now.” Jack flinches at the unforgiving words, but as the dark man turns away to pull him forward again, he quickly slips his hand back up to the locket and flicks it open with his thumbnail. He dares a look down at the inside. The chain is short, the locket high up on his neck, and it is hard to see the face in the picture upside down, but he takes a quick glimpse and then shuts the locket once more. Closing his eyes as he stumbles down the rough stone path, Jack remembers the image he just saw. Inside was the visage of a young girl, her face framed by long dark hair, a high collar on her ornamented shirt, her eyes an amber tone which shaded from a warm brown near the pupil to a bright yellow near the whites. Yellow, like those of the Phantom. 

Voices echo through the caverns behind them, distorted by the turns and the columns of stone between them. Jack can make out a few individual words, “murderer” being the prime one. There must be a lynch mob from the ballet on their heels. 

The Phantom turns to him again. “Why do you ask am I doing this? Maybe I want what you have: to be believed in.” Jack sucks in a breath; Jamie did believe in him, he had set up this failed trap after all; the audience believed in him, his two standing ovations had shown that, and for a moment he wonders how tonight’s show might have ended. “Maybe I’m tired of hiding in the shadows.” The words bring Jack’s attention back to the shadows moving around them, he feels his fear ratchet back up a notch, and he pulls again, trying to get away. “Don’t be nervous,” the Phantom says, though whether he is responding to Jack’s action or can sense the fear itself, Jack does not know and is afraid to ask. “It only riles them up more. They smell fear, you know.” 

More voices come from behind them again, and the Phantom tugs on Jack’s arm and begins walking once more, approaching the frozen surface of the underground lake. Facing forward, he continues, “There will be nothing but fear, and darkness, and me.” Under his breath, Jack hears him mutter one last sentence: “It’s his turn not to be believed in.”

* * *

The darkness of the cavern swirls around Jamie, feeling almost like it is alive, but every time he shakes his head and turns to face it directly, he sees nothing but normal darkness and gloom. Madame Toothiana must have noticed his distraction, for she grabs his upper arm again. “Your hand at the level of your eyes,” she admonishes, tugging on his arm. 

He nods dazedly and does as she suggests. “At the level of your eyes,” he murmurs. Far behind him he hears angry voices calling out for revenge, but their flickering torchlight does not reach the shadows they travel through. Madame Toothiana has led him through a veritable maze of passageways, each time choosing her turns with no pattern Jamie can see, but the path chosen leads ever downwards. The light is dim always, coming from some opening ahead of them, seeming to be a faint moonlight bouncing through the many twists and turns, gleaming off stalactites glistening wetly from the ceiling. The fact that it may be moonlight gives Jamie no hope; all hope has died within his heart and nothing remains but fear for Jack. 

Finally the passageway opens before them, revealing that the path continues, with a high wall on their left and a sharp drop-off to what sounds like running water on the other side. As Jamie starts to walk down the steep uneven path, he realizes that Madame Toothiana is no longer following him, and he turns back to her. She has stopped at the mouth of the cave and looks down into the chasm beneath them. As Jamie watches her, she slowly raises one arm and points ahead, to where the sound of the underground stream fades into a larger space. “He lives across the frozen lake, Monsieur,” she provides, her arm trembling only slightly as she speaks. Madame Toothiana’s voice trails off to a whisper as she continues, “This is as far as I dare go.” Her arm lowers, and she begins to take a few steps backwards. 

Jamie looks ahead into the large cavern. He cannot see the lake she mentioned due to a cold mist that seems to rise up out of the depths. Rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, Jamie dismisses the thought of yet another jacket lost in the earlier chaos as he examines the potholes in the ceiling above them. Faint moonlight filters through the layers of caverns between them and the surface, barely illuminating the dark metal monstrosities of cages that hang from the ceiling. 

“Madame Toothiana,” he says suddenly, and he hears her motion still. Jamie turns back to her. “Thank you.” She meets his eyes but says nothing, then she takes another couple steps backwards, and he has already turned away and started down the path before he sees her go. Voices echo across the chasm to his right, coming from another tunnel that opens onto the cave. Jamie ignores the words of the mob, knowing that Toothiana has led him to the correct path while the others will have to double-back on themselves to find a way down to the lake.

* * *

Jack breaks away from the Phantom’s grip just as they step off the ice into the cavern where he had awakened the previous time. Or perhaps now that they are in his lair, the Phantom sees no reason to cling on to Jack any longer. Jack feels his heart pound as he dashes from the dark man who follows slowly and smoothly. As Jack approaches the far side of the cavern, he realizes there is nowhere he can run. Even though there are numerous tunnels leading off to who-knows-where, the Phantom controls the shadows, and would be able to find him anywhere in the darkness. He could probably even smell Jack’s fear and use that as a guide. Jack slows and turns, continuing to take slow steps backwards, away from the Nightmare King. His eyes are fixed to the dark form before him, resolutely ignoring the metal cages hanging above their heads. 

Finally Jack swallows and asks in as bold a voice as he can manage, “Have you gorged yourself at last, in your lust for blood?” A sudden fear worms its way into Jack’s mind, and he cannot resist saying it aloud. “Am I now to be prey to your lust for… for flesh?”

The Phantom stops in his slow steps, clearly surprised at the smaller man’s words. However the predatory gleam in his golden eyes never wavers as a slow toothy grin spreads across his face. “Why should I steal from you what is already mine?” Jack sucks in a breath and takes another small step backwards. The smooth voice continues. “What need have I to claim what I’ve already had?” Jack’s breaths come quickly now, and his back bumps against the wall of the cavern. There is nowhere left that he can retreat to. “What need have I to take what you will soon give me willingly?” And with those words, trailing off into a hiss, Jack stops breathing. 

The Phantom steps closer again, Jack frozen in place as he approaches. When he is within arm’s reach, the Phantom stops and reaches one hand up to Jack’s face, but doesn’t touch. Even so, Jack can feel the pressure from the shadows against his skin, and he shudders. “Ah, such fear in you Jack. These shadows, the infection which poisons our love.” The Phantom moves his hands swiftly, grabbing both of Jack’s upper arms in his gray fingers. “Pity comes too late, turn around and face your fate…” With these words, the pressure on Jack’s arms signals him to turn and he does so without thinking, as he has always done, dancing with this man. A tall mirror stands before him, not the blank wall of the cavern as he had expected. Framed by the ornate wood of the mirror, Jack sees himself, a small pale youth in brown peasant clothing, arms gripped by a tall strong man. As Jack watches, the color leeches out of his clothes leaving him dressed in black to match the man behind him, who leans down into his ear and breathes warmly into it the words “…an eternity of this before your eyes.” 

Jack’s eyes wander their forms in the mirror for a moment. The other man’s skin is gray, a black cloak fading into the shadows draped over his shoulders and down to the floor. Jack’s skin is so pale as to be translucent, and for a moment even the whiteness seems to fade from his skin to match the other man’s, before Jack’s resolve hardens and his image instead shines before him. Raising his blue eyes to meet the glowing yellow ones in the mirror, he softly says, “This haunted face holds no horror for me now.” Realizing it is true, Jack takes another calm breath and feels the fear leave his body entirely. His shoulders relax as he continues. “It's in your soul that the true distortion lies.”

* * *

When Jamie reaches the iced-over lake, he swallows convulsively. He knows Jack has come down to the Phantom’s lair before, but he was not aware of this part of it. Jamie recalls the story Jack told him, what seems like a lifetime ago now, of his sister’s death in the frozen pond near their childhood home. Crossing this ice here cannot have been easy for him, despite its apparent solidity. Jamie looks over the surface and sees that the side where the underground stream enters on his right has thinner ice, while that further away on the left is thicker. He sees no way to the far side, where Madame Toothiana had told him he must go, other than crossing over the ice, so he cautiously places a foot onto the surface where it is thickest. For a moment Jamie thinks he can feel the ice shifting under his foot, but either it was his imagination or it has adjusted to his weight, for the sensation is gone. He slowly transitions his weight onto the foot on the ice, and then raises his other foot. 

Taking a deep breath, Jamie begins to gently walk across the ice towards the other side.

* * *

The silence is loud after Jack’s words fall from his lips, the dark man frozen behind him with his hands on Jack’s shoulders. In the silence, Jack hears a tiny crack off to his left, from the direction of the frozen underground lake, and the hands upon him tighten. Jack deliberately blanks his mind to any thoughts having to do with that body of water, or the other from his childhood, managing to block out most awareness of his surroundings, and thus is surprised when the Phantom speaks. 

“Wait! I think, my dear, we have a guest!” Jack turns and sees Jamie stepping off the – No, he sees Jamie stepping into the cavern. The Phantom releases Jack’s arms and turns towards Jamie. “Sir, this is indeed an unparalleled delight!” 

Jack struggles to call out Jamie’s name, but the fear he had thought so recently banished wells up in him again and blocks his throat. This time it is fear for Jamie. Jack knows he himself is doomed, but what the Phantom said about Jamie on their journey down…

“I had rather hoped that you would come,” the Nightmare King continues. “And now my wish comes true – you have truly made my night!” With this Jack feels something stir against his legs, and then suddenly he is wrapped in shadows and unable to move. 

“Free him!” Jamie calls out as he sees Jack immobilized by dark bands. “Do what you like to me, only free him! Have you no pity?”

The Phantom laughs at this and turns to Jack with an evil glee. “Your lover makes a passionate plea!” 

Jack realizes his head is free and he calls out “Please Jamie, it’s useless…” Jamie flinches so slightly at these words that Jack wonders for a moment if he imagined it. Jack’s eyes dart back and forth between his begging beloved and the cruelly happy face of the Phantom, and he realizes with a start that the Nightmare King didn’t notice the flinch or his smile would have widened even more. Suspecting now the extent of his powers, Jack also realizes that Jamie’s emotions must not have changed in the slightest at his words either, meaning either Jamie has hardened his heart to feel nothing, or more likely, he was already so filled with fear that even hearing Jack’s despair could add nothing to it. 

“I love him!” Jamie begs the Phantom, gesturing as though his arms could show all that fills his heart. “Does that mean nothing? I love him! Show some compassion–” but before he can finish this sentence the dark man interrupts. 

“The world shows no compassion to me.” 

Jack can hear Jamie’s voice cracking in his desperation as he implores, “Jack, Jack, let me see him…” and the bands around his body suddenly release and push Jack towards Jamie. 

“Be my guest, sir.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah! This's the last full chapter in my buffer! I'm going to be spending all of Labor Day laboring over the next chapter! And um, an X-Men character study that popped into my head. And maybe going to a cookout. And going for a jog...
> 
> Some of the dialog here was inspired by the Tooth Palace scene in RotG. 
> 
> Thanks for comments, keep them coming! :) I keep wondering if y'all're picking up what I'm putting down - there's a specific innuendo I've been making throughout which just jumped up a big step in its clarity in this chapter, and I'm dying to know if anyone's caught it yet and just not said. I will be making it explicit in Ch 28 so we'll see then if anyone freaks out too badly at the reveal. :) There's definitely going to be 30 chapters and I have no plans for a sequel. 
> 
> In the next chapter, the Phantom presents Jack with a choice. Next up, Chapter 27, “Be My Guest, Sir / The Point of No Return (Reprise)”


	27. Be My Guest, Sir / The Point of No Return (Reprise)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamie has tracked the Phantom to his lair, and the Phantom presents Jack with a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me two weeks to get this one done! I'm being whacked by schoolwork, plus I wrote another fic for Days of Awesome.

“Be my guest, sir.” 

With those words, Jack feels himself suddenly shoved into Jamie’s arms and the bands of darkness released from around his body. Jamie’s arms feel so warm and comforting around him after the cold of the shadows. He feels a hand gently smooth his hair, and Jack dissolves into sobs. Even while shaking though, he can feel that the tension hasn’t left Jamie’s body, and wiping his eyes on one linen sleeve, Jack turns his face up to look into Jamie’s. 

The soft brown eyes roam around the cavern in jumps, searching for something, and as the arms begin to retreat from around him Jack realizes that the Phantom is nowhere within sight. He is unsurprised at the voice that comes from all around them. “Monsieur, I bid you welcome!” Jack is however, slightly surprised as Jamie’s arms release their grip fully from around him. He clings for a moment, then lets go himself as he realizes that Jamie is turning as he rises and watching the dark. 

“Did you think that I would harm him,” the voice calls from one side of the cavern, past the organ’s keyboard, and looking in that direction, Jack can see golden eyes glowing from the shadow. Jamie sees them as well and begins to walk that way, both arms up before him, one higher as if to guard his head, and the other lower ready to throw a punch. No, Jack realizes, he’s keeping his arm up to guard against a noose wrapping around his neck. 

“Why should I make him pay…” the eyes close in a blink, and Jamie walks forward another step towards the darkness, ready to attack. The voice continues, Jack whipping his head around as he suddenly realizes it comes from another direction, then turning back as movement near Jamie catches his eye. “…for the sins which are _yours_?” 

The motion that caught Jack’s eye is a swarm of shadows reaching out to wrap around Jamie. Jack’s cry of “No!” goes ignored as the Nightmare King emerges from the shadows on the other side of the cavern and points towards a small cramped cell that hangs suspended from the ceiling. As Jamie struggles futilely, clawing at the intangible darkness around him, the shadows pick him up and throw him inside the small cage. 

“Please be my guest,” the Phantom says, his voice suddenly taking on a cheerful tone. “In this solid lead prison, created especially for you.” The door slams shut, some of the shadows taking on the form of a lock on the cage while the others dissipate back into the rest of the cavern. The Nightmare King laughs, a dark deep thing that leaves Jack feeling helpless, even as it makes his heart pound. 

With a grin, the Phantom looks at Jamie and taunts, “How are you going to order those fine horses now?” Jack can barely see through his tears to where Jamie’s hands grip the bars of his cage and shake them; the only result is a clanging noise as the entire cage swings. “Nothing can save you now - except perhaps Jack...” 

The Nightmare King flows smoothly towards Jack, seeming to almost float upon the cloud of shadows around his feet. Jack holds up an arm in defense as the man looms above him and orders imperiously, “Start a new life with me. Buy his freedom with your love.” As a dark arm gestures towards the cage swinging above them, Jack turns tear-filled eyes in that direction and bites back a sob. “Refuse me, and you send your lover to his death!” Jack gasps at this ultimatum and turns his head away, but the Phantom grabs his upper arm and shakes him slightly while continuing. “This is your choice.” Another shake and then the grip releases him, and Jack falls bonelessly to the ground, wrapping his arms over his head as if he could keep out the words or else trap in his sobs. “This is the point of no return!” 

Jack cannot breathe for the sobs he heaves, and struggles to catch his breath. After a few moments of silence from the Phantom, he realizes that no more words are coming, and he hears a small sound that indicates the figure has retreated from him. His heart aches. Why did Jamie have to follow him down into this dark lair? He could have… tolerated… things without that, he could have made a life with this pitiable man of darkness and dark desires, but with Jamie at risk now, everything is changed. 

With a deep breath, Jack raises his head and looks to where the Phantom stands, watching and waiting. Jack’s voice starts off detached, and firms into resolution as he speaks. “The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold, and turn to tears of hate!” Jack spits out the last word with all the venom in his body over the Phantom’s dragging innocent Jamie into this dilemma. 

Innocent Jamie who calls down from his prison, “Jack, forgive me, please forgive me!” Jack’s eyes are fixed to those of the Phantom. The normally gray skin of his cheeks seems even more pallid than usual in response to Jack’s heated words and glare. Jamie continues in a voice that seems to be despairing, “I did it all for you, and all for nothing.”

Jack ignores Jamie’s words, and gathering his strength, he rises from where he had been huddled. “Farewell, my fallen idol and false friend.” Standing strong he spits out his next words. “One by one, my last illusions shattered.” 

The Phantom’s eyes are wide and golden. He points a finger at Jack, his face contorting with rage. “Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity.” 

Jack may have hardened his heart to the Phantom, but the next words he hears from Jamie nearly break his heart once more. “Say you love him, and my life is over!” Jack doubles over in the pain that strikes into his very core. Words pound into him from every side.

* * *

Jamie grips the bars of the cage. The metal has a greasy feeling to it, clearly made of lead as the Phantom promised. Jamie recalls vaguely that lead is supposed to absorb light and magic. Plain steel or iron would have done as well for him, but he supposes the King of Nightmares is taking no chances in his own plot. 

Which so far has been going much more smoothly than Jamie’s own plot, for here Jamie is, trapped in a metal cell swinging above the floor of the cavern, with the Phantom offering Jamie’s life in exchange for Jack’s love. Jamie shakes the bars of the cage again as the Phantom continues his mind-numbing drone to Jack. 

“Past all hope of cries for help: no point in fighting.” 

Jamie feels despair seep into his bones, taking root alongside his fear. “Either way you choose, he has to win.” 

“For either way you choose, you cannot win,” the Nightmare King echoes. “So, do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave?” Jamie watches as Jack doubles over and puts his hands over his ears once more, as though trying to drown out the voices.

* * *

Jack’s lover pleads with him to choose as will benefit him the most; the other man demands; neither choice is a good one. 

Jamie’s voice calls from his cage to the Phantom, “Why make him lie to you, to save me?” Jack takes a step towards the cage swinging above him from Jamie’s movements, but as he cannot see through the solid floor it is pointless. The Phantom grabs Jack’s arm and pulls him back from the footprint of the cage once more, and thrusting him away, across the stone floor of the cavern. 

As the Phantom continues his words, droning somewhere between seduction and threat, Jack closes his eyes to center himself. At first musing quietly to himself, Jack softly begins, “Guardian of Music…”

He hears the two men’s voices echo around him, urging, pleading. “Past the point of no return!” “For pity’s sake Jack, say no!”

But Jack ignores them as he continues, conversing with the ideal Guardian who never existed anywhere but in his head. “…why this torment? Why do you spurn mercy?”

* * *

Tears flow from Jamie’s eyes as he watches his lover below him on the ground. Jack’s words are soft, and Jamie cannot hear them above his and the other man’s pleadings. Ignoring the Phantom, Jamie grips the bars of his cage and calls out, “don’t throw your life away for my sake!” 

He cannot help but hear one taunt though: “His life is now the prize which you must earn!” 

Jamie feels as though his heart is breaking. He has fought so hard to free Jack from the grip of the Phantom, both whatever strange hold he has over Jack’s mind, and from his physical demesnes, and all of it was for naught. As he watches, the larger dark man finally ceases his pacing and stands still in the middle of the cavern, and Jack slowly approaches him. 

“Guardian of Music,” Jack says, his soft voice strengthening, “you deceived me. I gave my mind blindly.” With these last words, Jack stops just out of arm’s reach of the dark man, whose hand suddenly reaches out to close the gap between them, and grabs Jack by the upper arm, pulling him closer. 

“You. Try. My. Patience.” The voice normally so smooth, is now gravely and slow. With a firm shake on Jack’s arm, he finishes, “Make your choice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some inspiration for this chapter was drawn from the Guardians of Childhood book “E. Aster Bunnymund and the Warrior Eggs at the Earth's Core”, the scene in which Pitch throws Nightlight into one of the cages. 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack makes his choice. Next up, Chapter 28: “Pitiful Creature of Darkness”.


	28. Pitiful Creature of Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack makes his choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Good things take time, right? ;)

With his final ultimatum, the Phantom releases Jack’s arm and takes two steps back, and Jack crumples to the ground with the support suddenly taken away from him. His mind whirls as his chest heaves. He hears the gentle sounds of the cage swinging above him and he does not need to look up to know that Jamie looks down in despair. 

For a moment, Jack sits and gathers his thoughts, thinking of only himself in a rare instance of selfishness. He’s been denying what he wants for so long, which is truly both men in different ways. The one man is strong and powerful, a dominant force that Jack is drawn towards inexorably, struggle though he may. The other is sweet and caring, giving of himself, his time, energy and money, wanting to give Jack whatever he might want. But he cannot have both of them – even were it something that were possible in the larger society, neither of the men would be able to accept that situation: they both want Jack as their sole possession. 

Jack thinks on the flaws of the two. The one man is strong and self-centered, wanting what makes himself feel good despite his self-deception that he wishes Jack to be happy and free. The other man is even more selfish, but he makes no pretense of selflessness, and what he wants is to glorify himself by having his possession be the best dancer ever, something Jack wants for himself as well. For a moment Jack considers rejecting both – do either truly want him for who he is, rather than who they imagine him to be, placed upon a pedestal? But no, he has been alone for so many years since the loss of his sister; he cannot stand the thought of returning to that once again. And besides, that would certainly mean Jamie’s death. 

He has a strong physical attraction to both men. For Jamie it had begun with his stares during practice for Hannibal, before Jack had recalled who he was. It had only continued when Jamie had comforted him after crying in his room. When Jamie had placed a warm hand on the back of Jack’s neck, he had felt a shock run through his entire body to his groin, and he couldn’t help but turn his face up to Jamie’s and capture his lips in his own. Jack’s desire for Jamie has only grown with time, but he had left it unfulfilled because of the other man, the Phantom. Thinking of the Phantom always brings a delicious fear to Jack’s heart, one that has him hard in anticipation at the same time. The dark man knows Jack’s body better than he himself does, knowing exactly where to touch him to elicit a gasp and make his knees weak, or how hard to push to bring out his best and stretch his legs in ways no other teacher has done. 

Jack thinks again on the ultimatum, and it dawns upon him that there is only one choice possible, regardless of which man he prefers to be with in the end. He can only hope that the Man in the Moon will shine upon him and make it come out okay. With a heavy heart he slowly looks up towards the Phantom from where he lies on the floor, and the words slip out of his mouth unbidden. “Pitiful creature of darkness,” he says softly, describing the man before him. The Phantom stands a few steps away from Jack, not looking at the smaller man on the floor. His shoulders are hunched over; perhaps he is victim to his own fear. Gaining a small measure of courage, Jack goes on, “what kind of life have you known?” As he watches the man fidgeting, Jack’s voice gains strength and he begins to rise. He knows now what he must do, what must happen, and he prays he has the strength to see it through. “MiM, give me courage to show you…” He does not look behind him as he hears the cage stir at his steps towards the Phantom, and finally he reaches out and places a hand on a dark shoulder. “You are not alone!” 

And Jack applies just a bit of pressure to the Phantom’s shoulder, signaling to turn towards him as the other has done so many times before, and when he turns Jack reaches up to cup his hands around the taller man’s gray face and stretches up on tiptoe to bring their lips together. 

For a moment, Jack sees disbelief in the yellow eyes staring shocked into his, then Jack closes his eyes. The kiss that began as chaste has brought a tingle to his skin, and Jack feels the sensation flow through his body and down to his groin. The taller man’s lips part as if he is about to speak, and Jack takes advantage of the opportunity to slip his tongue inside. His mouth is so warm, Jack feels as if it could melt him, and he tightens his arms around the other man to help support himself. Finally he feels arms begin to encircle him, at first gentle on his upper arms, and then as Jack runs his tongue along the roof of the other man’s mouth, the arms wrap tight around him and grip him almost painfully. Jack groans into the mouth against him, and pushes his hardness against the other’s thigh. 

As he grinds himself against the Phantom, the other man suddenly pulls him around and turns him towards a pile of pillows that had previously been hidden by shadows. Jack hears a sobbing sound from above them, and resolutely blocks it from his mind, which isn’t hard to do as he feels one of the Phantom’s hands rise to grip his hair painfully at the base of his skull, tugging possessively, as the taller man leans down into him and thrusts his tongue back into Jack’s mouth, now dominating the kiss. Jack cannot breathe; his head is spinning. He feels lust coursing through his veins, and realizes he has been rubbing his hardness against the thigh pressed between his. At the same time though, he hears a metallic clatter from behind the man so forcefully pushing against him, and Jack’s eyes turn up to the cage. 

From above him, a forlorn Jamie looks down, his face fallen and blank, his warm brown eyes watery. And then the dark man shifts, Jack’s line of sight is blocked, and he sees instead burning yellow eyes staring into his and Jack is unable to look away as he feels the hand behind his head drift down to the ties on his costume cape. A quick tug and push, and the brown fabric is lost somewhere, enveloped in the darkness that swirls at the corners of Jack’s eyes. 

Jack pulls back for a moment from the Phantom, afraid of the shadows that he can barely see. He feels his hardness waning as his fear waxes, and his heart begins to pound for a different reason, when the brows on the face before him draw down and the eyes flash from yellow to gold. With a gesture the shadows suddenly rise up around them and focus on Jack, pinning his arms to his sides and his legs in place, and Jack’s eyes reflexively close in a flinch. He is distantly aware of a yell from above them, but then the shadows narrow and grab at his clothing, quickly stripping him of his peasant shirt and brown leggings, and as the shadows retreat Jack feels hot hands upon his hips at the band of his dance belt, and once again he feels himself becoming hard. 

Opening his eyes again, he sees the golden ones fixed upon his own, a pink tongue darts out to lick gray lips, and then the eyes flick down to his waist and back up again. This time there is no gesture as the gray man’s clothing shifts color from the dark blue it originally possessed to a deep black, and then pulls back from his body and dissolves into sand, leaving his form entirely unclothed. The Nightmare King is more muscled than Jack, chest and abs toned, legs strong, but not as heavily muscled as Bunnymund is – was. Jack swallows convulsively and lowers his eyes, only to see the Phantom’s erection hard and upright and between them, the shaft the same gray as the rest of his skin, but the head a vivid red where it peeks out from the foreskin. Jack’s eyes widen as he takes in the implications of this, and realizes what is about to happen. He feels himself twitch, but doesn’t know if it is in anticipation or anxiety. 

The hands at his hips press inwards slightly, a gesture indicating Jack should bring his legs closer together to prepare for a jump and a lift, and Jack shifts his feet together in response. But instead of pressing down on his hips to indicate the timing of the jump, the hands tug down on his dance belt, pulling it smoothly over his slender hips and then thighs. For a moment Jack turns his face away and tries to hide his erection with his hands, but he feels another press at his hips, once again Jack’s body shifts to obey the silent command, and this time it does turn into a lift – lifting him away from the pillows and towards the opposite wall of the cavern. As he lands unsteadily, warm arms wrap around his body, the bare skin of a chest presses against his own, and he feels the other’s hot shaft rub against his stomach, and then shift to press against his own hardness. 

Jack hears a noise from above them, but before he can turn to look, the Phantom suddenly pushes firmly against his chest, guiding him rapidly backwards until he feels the organ keyboard against his back. It makes a noise as they bang into it. For a moment Jack fears the Guardian of the Ballet will fuck him on the keys, letting the music of their sex play through the pipes of the organ, but then the Phantom turns him and pushes him towards the wall beside the keyboard. Of course – they might have damaged something if they weren’t paying close enough attention. 

The chest against his own presses Jack to the rough wall behind him; his back scrapes against the stone as the Phantom grabs each of his wrists in his strong hands. His arms are pulled up above his head, and the grip shifts so that both of his wrists are held in a single hand. Jack glances up at his wrists, tugs experimentally, and the fingers turn to steel, he is unable to budge them the slightest bit. This should scare him, but instead Jack feels himself become even harder. Jack turns back towards the Phantom’s face, and there is a predatory gleam in the golden eyes. The gray lips spread in a triumphant smile, and Jack notices movement out of the corner of his eye and quickly snaps his head around to look. The shadows that had been lurking on the darkened edges of the cavern are now moving and writhing. Jack gasps in a breath in fear, and as if his emotions power them, they swell up and rush towards him once again. 

The shadows have no texture as they wrap around Jack’s wrists, allowing the Phantom to withdraw his own hand, and around his ankles as well. The Phantom takes a step back now that he can do so, and runs his eyes over Jack’s form. Jack blushes and tries to turn his head aside, but then he feels pressure on either side of his head, turning his gaze back towards the Phantom. The shadows must not be covering his ears however, for he hears ragged pants from above him. Jack feels a constriction in his chest, and chooses not to test whether he can see the third man in the cavern without turning his head. 

Instead he focuses on watching the gray face before him. A wet pink tongue snakes out from between gray lips and moistens them, then the glowing golden eyes turn back to Jack’s blue. Gray hands reach out and run down Jack’s sides, unhindered down his ribs, hips, and outer thighs. Without the slightest visible gesture from the Phantom, the shadows around his ankles pull his legs apart to give their master better access to Jack’s most private regions, and the hands continue around to the insides of Jack’s thighs. With another tug, additional shadows flow up behind Jack’s legs and begin to lift them, until he is supported only by his back against the wall and the shadows beneath his thighs, spreading his legs farther apart. The warm hands mirror each other, moving from his knees towards his groin, then one boldly cups his balls.

Jack groans at the sensation and his breath catches in his throat and his eyes roll back in his head. While he and Jamie had touched each other before, something about this is so much more intense. The heat from the hand sears him, and part of him tries to pull his sensitive sacs away from it, but he also tries to writhe so that the fingers touch another part of him. When they give a sharp tug instead to prevent him from moving too much, Jack’s eyes snap open, and he inadvertently makes eye contact with the man in the cage above them. Jamie’s brown eyes are wide with shock, and his mouth hangs open. On his face Jack can see a combination of disappointment and despair. Lower, Jack can see that his breath comes quickly in his chest, and lower still is the outline of his erection straining against his pants. 

Jack is drawn back to what is happening to him as he feels flesh press against his opening. He feels warm hands grip his hips as the skin presses firmly and steadily, seeking entrance, and Jack realizes that the Phantom has not prepped him in any way for the incursion, and fear spikes through him at the anticipation of pain. The man before him hisses in pleasure and presses against his entrance. Steadily, the sensation that began as pressure increases to invasion, and then opening, and finally penetration. Jack gasps at the feeling as the hard member pushes deeper inside – he is so full, and can never remember having felt like this in his life. As the Phantom pauses for a moment, Jack feels his own muscles clenching and twitching, as though begging for the motion to continue, and a whimper comes out of him unbidden. With the sound, the Phantom first presses harder against him, Jack feels hips flush against his thighs and realizes he has bottomed out, then begins pulling back out again. The sensations are so amazing, so _good_ that Jack realizes his own manhood has become rock hard and is beginning to leak pre-come, even as he feels so overwhelmed that he worries his eyes may be leaking tears as well. 

A hard thrust deep into him drives the worry from his mind, and Jack gasps and strains to wrap his arms around the man pounding into him. Picking up the pace, the Phantom withdraws and plunges back in again, faster and faster. Jack feels himself close, hearing the deep grunts the other man makes, and the higher pitched whines and gasps that must be coming from himself. He closes his eyes as the pleasure washes over him, and realizes he is close. 

The crest finds him suddenly, and he is shaking and twitching, his body jerking within his dark restraints, crying out at the pleasure flowing through his entire being. The Phantom does not stop however, but only increases his pace. Jack feels an ache within his derrière, and suddenly a sense of déjà vu washes over him.

* * *

_He stands on a rooftop, Jamie’s warm arms wrapped around him, the cool light of the Moon washing over them both. A voice drifts to him on the wind, and Jack stiffens and begins to pull away, nervously asking, “What was that?” He feels tension flow through his body again, and phantom pain tingles in his toes and derrière, recalling him to the night before._

* * *

_Jack leans forward and down to press his lips against Jamie’s as he wraps his arms around the kneeling man’s shoulders. Even that is not enough though, and Jack leans against him as he opens his mouth hungrily and presses his tongue into the waiting mouth. Hot and wet, that is all Jack can think as the blood rushes from his head downwards and he grinds himself against Jamie’s thigh. Jamie holds him tight as he leans back onto the rooftop. He raises one arm from Jack’s hip and towards his backside._

_The hand tracing around his leg to his derrière snaps Jack out of his sexual fugue._

* * *

_Jamie’s fingers are inside Jack’s channel, slowly gently swirling in a circle, then pressing deep in. Jack feels his whole body stiffen as the fingers find something within him that sends a shock of pleasure through his whole body. Jack writhes between Jamie and the sheets, and wants nothing more than to surrender to the sensations, but then Jamie withdraws his fingers and returns with his hardness._

_Jack whimpers slightly. “No, don’t,” he protests softly, knowing that as much as he wants this, he belongs to someone else, his entire body, his soul, and the torn fragments of his heart._

_As the tip of Jamie’s head slips inside, Jack winces, not at the pain for there is none, but at how he is torn in two between his desires._

_He hears Jamie’s voice: “Don’t you love me Jack?”_

_And all Jack can respond is a whimpered “No...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I really hope no one wants to kill me over this chapter - the delay or the contents! This chapter has been sooo difficult to write! I’ve known it was coming for a really long time, and I think in some ways that made it more difficult for me because I had this image of what I wanted it to evoke in my head, and I was worried I wouldn’t actually be able to do that. Every time I sat down, I was able to bang out at most a single paragraph (or a later chapter, or an entirely different work…), that’s why it took forever. 
> 
> Today however a friend reminded me to get cracking (finishing this work was one of my NaNoWriMo goals), and suddenly it all clicked into place. That might’ve just been because I have a big project deadline next week though, so it was work on that or this. :-P 
> 
> In the next chapter, the reactions of the Phantom and Jamie to Jack’s choice. Next up, Chapter 29: “Track Down This Murderer”.


	29. Track Down This Murderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The reactions of the Phantom and Jamie to Jack's choice, and Jack's own reaction to his discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I've got the last chapters written and anyone still reading was really patient for two months, here have another, only 2 nights after the last one! :)

Jack knows it is supposed to hurt, the first time a man is penetrated, even with preparation and lube, and that it gets easier with repetition. The little bit that he and Jamie did that night did not hurt in the slightest. Nothing the Phantom has done to him this evening has hurt him physically, even without any prep. His body only aches, only feels pleasure and the ache he feels is familiar; he has felt this sensation, this feeling of _after_ sex, before. 

And now the tears fall from Jack’s eyes as he realizes this must not be his first time. The first time he felt these aches was on the roof of the Ballet Populaire, the day after first visiting the Phantom’s lair, where he had passed out for an indefinite amount of time, when anything could have happened, the Nightmare King could have done anything to his unresisting body. 

The Phantom presses deep within him one last time and gasps out his own release. Jack can feel himself being filled within with a warm fluid, as the taller man pants above him. As he pulls back out, Jack gasps with the sudden feeling of emptiness both in his body and his heart, and he shatters apart into sobs, his chest heaving, his arms twisting within the confines of the shadows. 

Golden eyes fading into yellow look down at his face with surprise and widen as they take in his tears. Jack refuses to meet the eyes and instead looks up at the warm brown ones far above them. Jamie’s face looks betrayed, but Jack knows deep in his soul that he is the one who has been betrayed: by the Phantom’s previous taking of him, by Jamie’s inability to protect him, by the Man in the Moon for failing to hear his pleas, by his own inability to make a decision between the two men or neither. This time it is Jamie who cannot maintain the eye contact: his rich brown eyes first turn dull and empty, and then the man in the cage turns his back to where Jack remains pinned against the wall. And Jack feels the pain in his heart as almost a physical thing. Jamie no longer believes in him. He tries to curl up on himself, but the shadows do not allow it. 

He can feel the gaze of the Phantom searing his face, but Jack can only watch Jamie in despair himself. A motion out of the corner of his eye draws his attention, and he sees the Nightmare King turn from Jack to look up at Jamie speculatively, then the dark face that so recently had held triumph and post-orgasmic bliss draws into itself and becomes shuttered. The Phantom turns away from Jack, and a gesture brings shadows from the corners of the room to mask his form with his usual black cloak. 

Finally the shadows gently lower Jack to the floor, where he is at last able to curl up into a fetal position and close his eyes in the hope that he can shut out all the pain. Jack hears the rustle of fabric and cracks an eye to see that his clothing has been deposited next to him, but all Jack can do is sob and clench his legs tighter to his chest where his heart breaks. Jamie has turned away from him in his cage. Now that the Phantom has had him while conscious, he too has turned away. 

Neither of the men he thought he loved believes in him any longer.

* * *

Jamie lies collapsed on the floor of his metal cage, breath heaving out of his lungs, but eyes dry. He raises his head to look below him to where Jack lies on the stone floor of the cavern, sobbing. Voices, so long silent, or perhaps unnoticed with Jamie’s attention taken by the action on the floor before him, echo throughout the cavern, closer than they had been before. The voices call for blood, and they are now close enough Jamie can make out some of the words: “Track down this murderer, he must be found!” “The Phantom of the Ballet is there, deep down below.” “Revenge for Sophie!” “Revenge for Bunny!”

A metal noise sounds closer to Jamie, and he turns to see the shadows locking the door to his cage fade away, as he feels the cage drops to the floor of the cavern, only just stopping short of crashing to the ground. As it comes to a stop, the door swings open and Jamie tumbles out with the swings. The Phantom flows up to where Jamie is crouched dizzy, and grabs his upper arm to help him rise. Startled, Jamie looks up into the yellow eyes and the taller man’s voice is gravely as he instructs, “Take him. Forget me. Forget all of this.” 

For a moment Jamie stands unbelieving, frozen in the Phantom’s gaze, but then he is roughly pushed towards where Jack lies huddled on the ground beside the keyboard. Jamie sees Jack’s clothes next to him, and quickly begins wrapping them around Jack once more, hoping the Nightmare King will not change his mind. As he helps the nearly inert form of his would-be lover into his clothes, the other man yells up at the voices Jamie still hears approaching. “Leave me alone!” And turning to Jamie once more, “Forget all you've seen. Go now – don’t let them find you!” 

Jamie helps Jack to stand, putting one arm behind the smaller man’s back, pulling one of Jack’s arms over his shoulder. 

“Cross the lake. Swear never to tell the secret you know of this angel in hell!” 

The voice rings out behind them as Jamie helps Jack step down onto the frozen surface of the lake as quickly as he can. A glance back over his shoulder shows the Phantom collapsing into a heap, huddled next to the keyboard where Jack had lain moments before, surrounded by his shadows. Jamie turns away. He is numb, unable to think coherently, as his thoughts about the experiences of the past hour roil in his mind. He pushes them all to the back of his head, concentrating instead on helping his exhausted companion across the ice. For a moment Jamie wonders if he should even bother to help Jack, after all he had chosen that demon over himself, but Jamie firmly pushes that aside for later thought. 

As the cavern behind him fades in the darkness, Jamie thinks he hears the tinkling of a music box behind him, and a crooning voice floats through the tunnels accompanying it, the voice’s owner hiding in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the "big reveal" from way back between Chs 7 and 8 has now been revealed. Did anyone figure it out before reading this chapter, the immediately previous chapter, or the accompanying work / cutscene "The Music of the Night"? If so, what gave it away? If not, was I too subtle or just right? 
> 
> In the next chapter, Jack returns to the Phantom for one final thing. Next and final chapter, Chapter 30: “Finale”


	30. Finale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack returns to the Phantom for one final thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the last chapter! When you're done, make sure you also read [The Music of the Night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1005415), which you can think of either as an epilogue or a deleted scene.

They are halfway back across the frozen lake when Jamie feels Jack’s hand slip out from his stunned grip. Startled out of his unthinking stupor, he turns to watch Jack run back across the ice to the dark cavern they had just, finally just, escaped. Jamie feels his jaw fall open as he watches his lover’s retreating form. For a moment he considers turning back towards the surface and leaving him… Jack is now damaged goods after all – no! Jamie can’t think of the man he loves in that manner. Jack was forced to do what he did to try to save both their lives. He made the penultimate sacrifice… but that did not change the fact that Jack chose the Phantom over himself. The fact that the Phantom had him before he did. The fact that Jack _enjoyed_ it. The fact that maybe Jack had even been saving himself for the Phantom. The fact that Jack would have spent the rest of his days with the Phantom, had not the Phantom rejected him after having him. And none of that changed the fact that Jack has just turned from him, from Jamie, to return to the Phantom. 

Jamie hangs his head and doggedly follows Jack back across the ice. His efforts would not be for naught. Even as Jack is now, Jamie would have him. After all, the Phantom would not have him, and MiM knows Jack needs _someone_ to cling to. Jamie watches Jack lightly hop back up onto the cavern floor and dash across the stone to where the Phantom still sits huddled to himself. As Jack approaches him, Jamie sees his lover reach around the back of his neck, and realizes he means to return the Phantom’s locket. Jamie’s heart aches with the realization of how he has misjudged Jack, thinking that he was returning to the Phantom, when really he was only returning the sign of the Phantom’s love. 

The Phantom hears Jack’s light footsteps and turns towards him, face looking up at Jack’s shaking body. In a weak breathy voice from where he sits on the floor, the Phantom croons up at the pale form above him, “Jack, I love you…” 

Wordlessly Jack holds out the locket in a single outstretched hand, dangling from his fingers and trembling slightly with his hand’s tremors. The Phantom does not move to take it. Jamie quietly steps up behind Jack, but giving the two men a couple steps’ distance. Neither moves, their eyes each locked to the other’s, a cold bright blue gazing down at a harsh bright gold looking longingly back up, seemingly the only light in the dim cavern coming from their depths. After long moments Jamie finally calls softly to Jack, “Say you’ll share with me one love, one lifetime…” 

And without losing eye contact with the Phantom, Jack says, “Say the word and I will follow you.” Jamie knows not to whom Jack addresses the words, and that uncertainty breaks his heart, but the words seem to break the tableau as the Phantom finally reaches out slowly with one gray hand, and places his open palm beneath the hanging golden charm. Jamie watches Jack’s trembling hand as he loosens his grip and lets the chain slip from his fingers into the Phantom’s. 

Jamie continues, stretching his hand out towards Jack, pleading, “Share each day with me…”

“Each night,” Jack adds, and withdraws his hand without ever touching the Phantom. 

And both say “…each morning,” as Jack finally turns away from the Phantom and places the hand that so recently held the locket into Jamie’s. Jack’s fingers are cold. They are silent as they walk back towards the ice, their steps heavy. Jamie dares not look back at the Phantom as they move away from him. He affixes his eyes on his lover, and Jack takes a step ahead of him as they approach the lip of the drop. It still eats at him though, how Jack could choose the Phantom over him, how he would always be Jack’s second choice, accepted only because of the Phantom’s rejection of him at the very end. Jamie shakes his head as Jack releases his grip at the edge of the frozen pond. No, if he’s to make a life with Jack he cannot think that way. The only way for Jamie to live was for Jack to make the choice he did, and put his faith in MiM to preserve their love. Which had in fact happened; in the end Jack had made the right choice. 

Jamie resolutely decides to look at his life this way for the future, and turns back to his love as Jack steps boldly onto the ice, his body language clearly heavy-hearted. Jamie smiles at Jack as the smaller man turns back to him, hiding his regret, hiding his pain. Seeing his face, Jack’s own lights up as well, and holding his hands out towards Jamie, Jack takes a grinning step backwards on the ice. Jamie feels his own grin widen and stretches his arms forward as well as he reaches the edge of the stone. 

A loud crack booms across the cavern at the same moment that Jack staggers, slips, falls. The smile falls from Jack’s face, morphs into shock and then quickly into fear as Jamie sees his form shift and move. For a long frozen moment Jamie doesn’t understand what is happening, and then Jack disappears, falling, falling through the ice and Jamie does, he does understand and it is already too late. He throws himself forward, torso sliding across the two feet of ice between himself and the newly formed hole where Jack no longer stands. He spreads out his weight on the ice, reaches into the water so cold that his hands are numb before he even feels them to be wet. He thinks he feels his fingers brush something in the water, brush skin, but he can’t grab it, he’s so cold he can’t feel anything, it’s gone before he can do anything, and he realizes there is something wrapped around his ankles where they still rest on the stone lip above the ice, and something is pulling him back, and he hears a voice wailing in his ears and realizes its his own, calling for Jack, now gone, gone forever beneath the ice, like Jack’s own sister so many years ago, gone. 

Something is pulling him back, dragging him onto the stone, and his arms are so cold and numb, his heart is so cold and numb. A voice is saying something to him, but he does not want to hear it. Not from who it must be from. The voice is telling him to live, that that is what Jack would want, but how could anyone know what Jack would want. Jamie feels something being wrapped around him, warm and dry, and getting nearer (but not as near as the hated voice) he hears other voices calling out for death, for blood, for murder, for the murderer, and now one more is dead, his Jack, his love. 

Jamie huddles to himself, buries his head in his arms, his arms in the cloak around him, too numb, to cold to cry. He hears a voice yell, scream near him, and this time he knows it is not his own. 

The voice says, “You alone could make my feet take flight. It's over now, the music of the night…” 

And then there is nothing but cold and dark, and silence and shaking, until Baby Tooth arrives and finds the Phantom’s black cloak thrown over Jamie, and she rushes to his side, crouches next to him, to learn what happened. 

But there is only fear and darkness filling all of Jamie’s heart and soul, and he does not tell her anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually wrote the draft of this one when I was having a mental block on Ch 28 (Pitiful Creature of Darkness). 
> 
> The three main websites which I found useful in creating (adapting?) this work I actually didn’t find a place to mention previously, so here they are.
> 
>   * The [Glossary of Sexual and Scatological Euphemisms](http://www.uta.fi/FAST/GC/sex-scat.html). This was my first time writing extensively about sex. I’ve done short ones, but not this long a work with sexual content before, even if there were really only three sex scenes (one off-screen but heavily implied throughout [Ch 7.5: Music of the Night, now added as a deleted scene], one abortive [Ch 16: Entr’acte], and only the one “completed” [Ch 28: Pitiful Creature of Darkness]), and I wanted to make sure I used words that weren’t too repetitive and/or crude. I just hope I didn’t end up erring in the opposite direction, with an unrealistically large set of sex vocabulary. 
>   * [The Phantom of the Opera (1986 musical)](http://poto.wikia.com/wiki/The_Phantom_of_the_Opera_\(1986_musical\)) from the PotO wikia. Thanks to [Himmeh](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Himmeh) for recommending it. 
>   * The complete [Lyrics](http://theatre-musical.com/phantom/libretto.html) of the 1986 musical were really useful to me, especially when I was getting stuck on scenes such as the many Notes-es. 
> 

> 
> OMG thank you all **so** much for staying with me on this roller coaster of the last few chapters! I’m so sorry for the hiatuses, real life got in the way. **blush** After this’s been up for a while I’m probably going to go back and clean out a lot of the commentary regarding timing of when posts went up, as I find that annoying to read when I’m reading completed works. :-P 
> 
> I hope y’all enjoyed this work, and don’t hate me too much for the ending. I had it in mind for a really long time, certainly before Ch 17: Masquerade - I put in some of the stuff about the various endings of _Swan Lake_ actually to tease a bit about different possible endings. I have to say I totally feel like Joss Whedon writing this… Did anyone see this coming? I’d love to know what you think of this work overall, and the ending in particular. ☺ 
> 
> I don't have any plans for a sequel (though there is a "Love Never Dies" musical sequel, which apparently got horrible reviews), but I do have a bunch of other works here, RotG and other fandoms too, which you can read if you want more of my stuff. Of them all, I think my X-Men fic [Repentance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/958986) (part of a series but can stand alone) is the best.

**Author's Note:**

> BTW I have a Tumbles - I'm [zandperl](http://zandperl.tumblr.com) there as everywhere. I don't fully get this whole Tumbling ... thing, but I may post there occasionally. I'm more prolific [on LJ](http://zandperl.livejournal.com/), but I get the impression that people here don't use that at all.


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